


We Can't Even Think of a Word That Rhymes

by scarletjedi



Series: Kurt is a Winchester [2]
Category: Glee, Supernatural
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Complete, Crossover, F/M, M/M, Minor Character Death, Puckurt Big Bang, second in a series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-26
Updated: 2013-07-26
Packaged: 2017-12-21 04:41:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 20
Words: 36,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/895908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarletjedi/pseuds/scarletjedi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to How I Spent My Summer Vacation (and Other Myths). Kurt and Puck return to Lima from their summer learning to be Hunters with the Winchesters and have some trouble adjusting to "normal" life. It doesn't help that Blaine still transferred to McKinley and is causing them grief over the direction of the glee club. At least the upcoming benefit concert will give them a chance to bring the Winchesters to Lima. Of course, when the Winchesters are involved, nothing is ever easy...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Coming Home: Kurt

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Proxydialogue for being the best Beta-Under-Fire ever!  
> Thanks to emilywritescrap for her KICKASS art!! (also last minute under-fire because she's awesome)  
> Thanks to Raving_Liberal and Patchfire, whose work has inspired SO MUCH about the way I think of Glee, that I have a habit of mistaking their canon for show canon. (BTW, if you haven't read their SOTB, finish this, then go read ALL OF THAT). Without you both, I never would have done this Bang.

  


Kurt pulled up to Puck’s apartment building, parking the Nav in the passenger seat. Puck didn’t move, his hood pulled over his head and his hands jammed in his pockets. Kurt leaned over, looking out Puck’s window at the building. He glanced at Puck, and Puck met his eyes. Kurt arched an eyebrow.

“You okay?” Kurt asked. “You’ve been quiet since we hit Ohio.”

Puck sighed. “I don’t want to go in there.”

Kurt didn’t have to ask why; Puck had told him enough about his home life that Kurt had a pretty good idea, anyway. Before Kurt could say anything, Puck scoffed.

“Look at me. Badass Leviathan killer, and I’m afraid to go into my own place.” Puck shook his head. “Some badass.”

“Hey, now,” Kurt said, bumping Puck’s shoulder. “None of that. You _are_ a badass. You saved my life, remember?”

Puck smiled, not quite his full cocky grin but close. “I seem to remember you doing some of that saving.”

“That’s because your boyfriend is _also_ a badass,” Kurt said. _That_ made Puck grin.

“Fuck yeah, you are,” he said. Puck reached up to cup the back of Kurt’s head, pulling them together for a tender kiss. It was the kind of kiss that Kurt wouldn’t have associated with Puck before this year, before he had seen Puck’s deliberate deconstruction of the persona he had created for himself as a bully/jock. Still, Kurt _had_ seen it, had witnessed the lengths that Puck was willing to go to for Beth, and while his actions may have been misplaced, his heart wasn’t. It made Puck a formidable Hunter. 

Kurt hummed into the kiss and Puck deepened it with a swipe of his tongue. Grinning, Kurt wrestled with him. Puck had a softer side that didn’t lessen his sexual appetite, and Kurt was reaping the benefits. The many, many benefits.

God, the things that boy could do with his _mouth_ …

Kurt pulled away, gently biting Puck’s lip and pulling it with him. Puck leaned forward, chasing Kurt’s mouth, and Kurt grinned. “You don’t have to go home, yet,” he said.

“I don’t,” Puck agreed.

“We could always…go somewhere,” Kurt said.

“I like somewhere,” Puck said.

Kurt grinned and sat back. “Yeah, I thought you might.” He turned the Nav back on and drove out to the city limits and the various back roads that afforded young couples parent-less privacy. They could steal a few more hours just for them.

***

The sun was just starting to set when Kurt drove the Nav back to the main road. His now imperfect hair was hidden under his had, and he knew his lips must be swollen. His skin was flushed and there was a satiated angle to the slant of his eyes that screamed, “I just had mind-blowing semi-public sex with my boyfriend and I feel _fine_.” For his part, Puck looked much the same.

This time, when Kurt parked his car, Puck slid out of the passenger seat, and Kurt went to open the back hatch to help Puck get his things. Duffle bag over his shoulder and guitar in hand, Puck leaned in to steal one last kiss. He disappeared into the building with a promise to text Kurt later.

Kurt climbed back into the Nav and drove home.

The garage door was open when Kurt pulled into the driveway, and the hood was popped on Finn’s truck. The floodlights were on, and a Kurt could see the glow from a hanging spot lamp from the side of the hood. Burt and Finn poked their heads up from the engine when Kurt parked the Nav and climbed out of the car.

Burt grinned, wiping his hands off on a rag as he walked over to his Kurt and opened his arms. “Hey, kid! Welcome home!’ Kurt grinned and hugged his dad tightly.

“Thanks, Dad.”

“Hey Kurt!” Finn called, waving his hand but not trying to come closer. Judging by the grease stains on the front of Finn’s coveralls, it was a wise decision.

“Hi, Finn.”

“How was the drive?” Burt asked, stepping back.

“Long,” Kurt said, shrugging. “No problems.”

“Good,” Burt said. “I was worried about you making that drive by yourself.”

 _Well,_ Kurt thought, Now was as good a time as any.

“I wasn’t alone,” Kurt said.

“What do you mean?” Burt asked, frowning.

Kurt rolled his eyes, knowing where Burt’s mind was headed. “I mean I picked up a string of hitchhikers and made them sing along to my _Wicked_ cast album.”

Finn looked over, horrified. “Dude, you didn’t! You don’t just force showtunes on unsuspecting people!”

“Kurt.” Burt said.

“A,” Kurt said. “ _Wicked_ is not just any musical, and B, you know him, Dad, it was Puck. I told you I saw him. His aunt lives in Sioux Falls, and he ended up working at Bobby’s for the summer. I gave him a ride home so he wouldn’t have to buy a bus ticket. It only seemed fair.”

“Bus tickets are expensive,” Finn added.

“He was _working at Bobby’s?_ ” Burt said. Kurt met his Dad’s eyes and saw the hidden meaning. _Was Puck in training, too?_ Kurt nodded.

“All summer,” Kurt said. “Uncle Bobby said he needed the help.”

“Uh huh,” Burt said, nodding slowly, but he was still thinking about something, and Kurt had a suspicion that he knew what it was.

Not for the first time, Kurt wished Finn knew about Hunting. It would make these conversations so much easier.

“You two work together a lot, then?” Burt asked. _Is he your partner, now?_

“Oh, bunches,” Kurt said. “I think Uncle Bobby hoped some of my talents would rub off on Puck.”

Behind Burt, Finn jerked like he was choking, and Kurt just prayed Burt didn’t realize. Kurt had told Finn when he and Puck started dating, but had told Finn to keep quiet until Kurt told Burt. Which he really should do now before Finn hurt himself trying to hold it in.

“Oh,” Kurt said, aiming for nonchalant. “By the way, Puck and I are dating.”

Burt froze as Finn said a fevered, “Oh, thank God,” into the engine. Kurt would have laughed if not for the look on Burt’s face.

“Dating?” Burt said. “As in boyfriends?”

Kurt nodded. “As in boyfriends.”

“Hey, Finn,” Burt said, not bothering to look. “Why don’t you head on inside and get cleaned up. Kurt and I will finish up out here.”

Finn looked between the two of them. “Sure thing Burt,” he said. He reached over and held out his fist for Kurt to bump, then walked back inside, taking his jumpsuit off in the garage and only barely managing to not fall over when he was standing on one foot. Once the door closed behind him, Kurt turned back to Burt.

“Hunters aren’t exactly known for their tolerance,” Burt said. “You sure you know what you’re getting into?”

Kurt nodded. “We work well together, Dad. Real well.”

Burt stared at him for a long minute. “Does he love you?” He asked.

“It hasn’t been long,” Kurt said. “But yeah, I think he does. And before you ask, I think I do, too.”

Burt sighed. “Then bring him around to dinner this week.”

Kurt grinned, and threw his arms around Burt. “Thank you, Dad!” Burt chuckled and hugged back.

“Now,” Burt said, pulling back and wrapping one arm around Kurt. “Let’s get the Nav unpacked and you can tell me all about your summer.


	2. The New Normal: Dean

In the year that wasn’t, when Dean was living the “dream” with Lisa and Ben, the hardest thing to get used to was sleeping with someone else in the bed.

Dean had shared his share of beds; he shared with Sammy growing up for longer than he probably should have, waiting until they were both too big to fit as opposed to any rules of age or propriety. It was just the way they were. Sometimes, even when the money isn’t tight, they lie, bold-faced and obvious though they’d never admit it—never call the other out on it—saying they can’t afford a room for the night. Then, they hunker down in the Impala, and Sam’s really too tall, and Dean will deliberately stick his feet in Sam’s face when Sam start to snore or fart, but it doesn’t matter because they are _together,_ so when the nightmares start they are close enough to feel the warmth of the other body, to touch solid flesh _just to be sure._

No. They’d never admit to needing those nights, but this way they can still have them, sleeping in the only home they’ve ever known. 

Besides, Dean had slept in any number of strange beds. Living from motel to motel meant that you never really got used to a mattress. Even when they stayed still for a few months for school, Dean never really got used to the bed. The closest came with the twin beds Bobby had set up for them in their room at his house, though they didn’t sleep there very often.

This was not to mention to various single nights-weekends he had spent with various lovely strangers over the years. There wasn’t really much _sleeping_ happening then, anyway.

Still, Lisa’s bed had been nothing but Lisa’s bed. Even on the last night Dean had slept in that bed, not knowing it would be the last night, he never thought of it as _his_ bed. It was always Lisa’s bed that he slept in.

Now, Dean had a bed, and Cas to share it with, and a real _home_ that they could call their own. Yeah, sure, it was an underground bunker that served as the repository for all supernatural knowledge, and hadn’t _that_ adventure been some Mike Mingola- _B.P.R.D._ -Hellboy shit what with arcane knowledge and Nazis, but it was _theirs_. Their Legacy from their grandfather as Men of Letters.

Well, Sammy could be a Man of Letters. Dean and Cas were Hunters.

Dean hummed as he flipped the burgers, beef for him and Sam, veggie for Cas. It was enough that Cas was once again eating food that came on buns, be he still wasn’t fully over the effects of famine. While he could be around the smell of cooking meat, eating it was still too much. Dean figured it a sign of how much he loved Cas that he willingly cooked veggie burgers, especially considering how much Sam had laughed the last time.

Sammy shut up real quick when he tried the burger Dean had made for him.

Dean felt arms slide around him and he tilted his head to give the lips on his neck more room. “Heya, Cas,” Dean said.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas said into Dean’s neck, and Dean shivered as those lips trailed over his pulse.

“Burn my burger and you’re making me a new one,” Sam said from his seat at the table, not looking up from his laptop. Dean glared over his shoulder.

“No laptops at the kitchen table,” he said. Sam looked up at him, like he couldn’t believe Dean had just said that. Dean waved the spatula at him, form-perfect for a short sword, and Sam rolled his eyes but still packed away his computer.

“Nice apron, Deano,” Gabriel said. He was currently a she, swimming in one of Sam’s flannel shirts and a pair of cut off denims and sucking on a red lollipop. Dean grinned smugly. The apron was a scale image of [Batman’s uniform](http://nevernotanerd.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/batman-apron.jpg) from neck to mid-thigh, and had been a bunker-warming gift from Bobby.

Sam sat back down and Gabriel climbed into his lap. “How long until dinner’s ready?” Sam asked, and pressed his face into the messy pile of Gabriel’s hair.

“A few minutes,” Dean said. “Why?”

His only answer was a snap, and when he turned around, Sam and Gabriel were gone. Dean stared at the ceiling. “Oh, come on!”

Cas laughed softly. “They will be back,” he said.

“That’s not the point,” Dean grumbled. “I don’t have time to fool around with you before dinner, they shouldn’t have time, either.”

“But they do,” Cas said. “So they will, and we will fool around after dinner.” He smiled, showing a hint of tooth. “And if we’re loud enough for them to hear…” Cas shrugged and Dean grinned, pulling him into a deep kiss.

“I knew I loved you best for a reason,” he said.

Cas nodded. “It is because of our profound bond,” he said, and it was so deadpan, that Dean had to shake his head.

“Sometimes, I don’t know if you’re fucking with me on purpose or not.”

“That is for me to know, and you to find out.”

“Cas?”

“Yes Dean?”

“You’re not allowed to hang out with Gabriel anymore.”

***

Much had happened in the month since the Leviathan was unmade. At first, Sam and Dean had gone back to their drifter habits, taking Cas with them and giving him “human lessons.” After a couple weeks, they had stumbled across the next big bad, or rather, Grandpa Winchester had stumbled across them, straight from the past.

It wasn’t the _most_ awkward family reunion Dean had had—that award went to meeting his (hottie! oh, ew!) mom in the past—but it was awkward enough once they had escaped the demon that followed him and Cas confirmed that the man was who he said he was.

And that was another thing. In the last few weeks, Cas’s falling had plateaued, leaving him just shy of fully human. The lingering grace seemed to give Cas an extra sense, a certain amount of innate knowledge and foresight that, while not as handy as, say, miracle healing, still saved their bacon more than once. It was Cas’s sympathy for Henry when he realized that not only was John dead, but that he’d missed his son’s entire life—that John had grown up _hating_ him—that really swayed Dean.

“John’s sons,” Henry had whispered, near reverently. “Grandsons.” He had turned to Cas. “And how do you fit in?”

“I was an angel of the Lord,” Cas had said. “When Dean was sent to Hell I was sent to raise his soul from perdition.” He had paused. “We have a profound bond.”

Henry had stared, jaw slack. “Angel…” then he had frowned. “A profound bond?”

“Indeed,” Cas had said. “One such that I often found myself acting for Dean against direct orders. Now that I am human, we are lovers.”

More than anything else so far, that had seemed to throw Henry. “What—what?” He had looked to Dean, confused.

Dean had rolled his eyes. “Lot’s changed, old man.”

“Apparently,” Henry had said. It was the last to be said on the matter, though occasionally Henry had looked between Dean and Cas like he couldn’t quite fathom an apparently male angel falling for a man, or maybe he couldn’t see a “brutish Hunter” being so accepting of a gay relationship.

Still, when the chips came down, Henry had put family first, sacrificing his life for the grandsons he had known only briefly. The end result had been access to the bunker, a new base and the first permanent home that Dean had known since he was four. He picked a large room, decorating his half with his guns and his records, smoothing the blankets on the bed with military precision. Cas’s side was more barren, but also more unruly, as he decorated with anything that caught his eye from oddly shaped leaves glued to paper to pictures torn from magazines. Dean didn’t say anything about Cas decorating like a teenager and Cas never commented on Dean’s ocd cleanliness. They settled into the room like they’d lived together forever.

Sam had chosen a room on the other side of the sleeping quarters, either to respect their privacy or to carve some out for himself. Dean didn’t really go into Sam’s room, and the last time he’d seen it, it had been decorated like a harem room straight out of Arabian Knights. Dean didn’t really want to know, being as then he’d know too much about his little brother’s romance with Gabriel.

It was after their return from dealing with the Golem—an event that went much smoother with Cas there to offer guidance, and at the same time more difficult with Gabriel popping in to troll the rabbi-in-training—that Bobby came to visit. It was his first time in the bunker and Dean would deny up and down that he had spent the day before scrubbing the place from top to bottom. (When Sam had asked what he was doing, Dean had snapped. “Nothing! Just—nesting.” Sam, wisely, left it alone).

Bobby arrived just in time for dinner, and as Cas helped Dean place the food on the table, Dean realized that he had finally gotten the home and family he had always wanted. Dean grabbed Cas in the kitchen, right before Cas was to walk out with the last platter, and kissed him deeply. Cas didn’t question, just kissed back with everything, as he always did. After, Cas tilted his head, and Dean just shrugged.

“Happy to be home,” he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apparently, AO3 likes to eat my links, so until I can fix it, here's the URL for the Batman Apron
> 
> http://nevernotanerd.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/batman-apron.jpg


	3. First Day Blues: Puck

It had been a long time since Puck could say he was _happy_ to go back to school. (When he was younger, school had been an escape from his baby sister and the hole where his father used to be, but over time, school just became another place where he couldn’t be himself.) Football had helped, giving him something he was good at that wouldn’t get him teased. Glee had been better, because even though he was lower on the social food chain (and really, he could give two fucks about the pecking order now that the slushie ban was being enforced), he was doing something _even better_ than football, something he was _really_ good at.

After the summer he’d had, being back in Lima was a major let down. It was as if the place was a supernatural dead zone; there wasn’t even a haunted house in town. Lying in his bed, staring at his Carver Edlund books, sometimes it seemed that his summer at Bobby’s was nothing more than a fever dream.

Then Puck would turn a certain way and catch sight of himself in the mirror and see the fading bruises from the final fight with the Leviathan, or Kurt would text him anything from bitchy comments about people he saw in the mall to some of the hottest sexting he’d ever had, or he’d see Kurt and they’d lose themselves in each other for a while, and Puck would remember that it was _all real_.

So—while Puck wasn’t looking forward to classes, he was looking forward to seeing Kurt every day and getting away from the looks his mother sent his way. She didn’t quite believe Aunt Jody about Puck’s summer and tended to look at him like he was deliberately trying to break her heart.

Yeah. Getting away would be a _good_ thing.

His school year started with football, two weeks before classes started and a few days after he returned to Lima, with the weight room and the physical and tryouts and drills. The routine was familiar, comforting, and a lot easier after Winchester Boot Camp. There were rumors circling, too, that Puck heard just at the edge of his hearing about where he had spent his summer. Some thought he went to military camp and others thought he went back to juvie. They lost interest soon enough when someone saw a hickey on Strando’s neck, and everyone started taking bets on just who would mack on Strando. Puck had his money on Strando’s mom’s vacuum cleaner.

No one looked twice at Puck’s bruises, or the new tattoo that rested over his heart. Puck was glad that his rep allowed for such changes because it avoided a lot of questions that he really couldn’t answer.

Finn was awesome about it, too. He didn’t know all the details about Puck’s summer, as Burt wanted to keep Finn and Carole out of the loop and therefore out of trouble, but he knew about Puck and Kurt, and Puck knew he’d have Puck’s back in case shit got real.

Puck wanted to tell the others glocks about Kurt and him, but he wanted Kurt to be there when he did it more. Schue had arranged a pre-school gathering the Monday before school started, and that would be perfect as it gave them both everyone together at once and news that could upstage Rachel Berry.

Kurt had grinned sharply at that and Puck had smirked. It’d be just the right kind of _fuck you_ to cement both Puck and Kurt’s position as most badass couple.

Monday morning, Puck rolled into the high school parking lot with Finn and Kurt. They weren’t the first ones there—Puck would bet that it was Berry, though Artie would have been a close second—and he recognized Santana’s car in the lot.

Puck climbed out of the Nav, taking a moment to laugh at the way Finn had to unfold himself from the back seat. He heard Kurt’s door shut, and he looked up and around, taking stock. The school was nearly empty, just a few teachers prepping for the year. Puck saw Schue’s car and the custom beauty that was Sylvester’s in its special parking space, and—

And Blaine Fucking Anderson jogging over to them.

Puck raised an eyebrow. “The fuck?” he said. Finn looked over, and Puck felt him tense.

“Hey, Kurt,” Finn said. “Incoming.”

“What?” Kurt said as he walked around the car.

Blaine must have seen him then, as he called out, “Kurt! Hey, Kurt!”

Kurt stopped next to Puck and sighed. “Oh, _balls_ ” Kurt muttered, and Puck bit his lip as he snorted. “What are you doing here, Blaine?” Kurt said.

Blaine slowed his jog and bounced the last few steps. He frowned. “What are you wearing?”

Kurt crossed his arms. Kurt was dressed like he had been over the summer, in a pair of soft looking jeans that were fitted but not skinny jeans over his motorcycle boots, a white tank, and a subtle red plaid overshirt, rolled up at the sleeves. (The shirt had prompted some very funny pouting on Finn’s part, as he couldn’t understand how _Kurt_ could wear plaid, but when _Finn_ did, it was a crime against fashion. Kurt hadn’t even bothered to explain, just patted Finn’s head and said “Because that’s the way it is.”). The cut was very _Kurt,_ slim and stylish, but the overall look was very different that what everyone in glee was used to. Personally, Puck thought Kurt never looked hotter than when he looked like he could kick ass and take names. Though, Kurt’s clothes said a lot about his state of mind; he was going in dressed for a fight, and Puck wondered just what Kurt was expecting to happen.

“Clothing,” Kurt snapped. “Plaid is in this season. What do you want?”

Blaine shook himself. “I’m here for the glee meeting,” he smiled and all of Puck’s hackles raised. He’d seen a more sincere smile on Dick Roman. “I go here, now!”

“What?” Puck said, hearing an unusual growl to his voice, then realized it wasn’t him at all: all three of them had said the same thing all at one. It had been Kurt who growled.

Blaine nodded and took a step closer, glancing at Puck and Finn as if to dismiss them. Puck folded his arms and stood his ground.

“I’m sorry about everything, Kurt,” Blaine said. “I realized that it wasn’t you, it was the distance.”

“For fucking real?” Finn muttered, and Puck shook his head.

“I thought a lot about my priorities,” Blaine said. “And I realized that I would rather have you than anything else.”

“Ha!” Kurt snapped out a disbelieving laugh. “That is the biggest load of BS I’ve ever heard.” Blaine reared back, like he hadn’t expected Kurt to call him on it. Puck grinned, cheering his boyfriend on. “What is wrong with you? You cheated on me, and you think _you_ get to…what? _Have_ me? I’m not a fashion accessory, Blaine. I’m a person. I’m a person that you _hurt._ ” Kurt looked Blaine up and down one more time, and turned his head, dismissing him. “You lost whatever privileges you thought you had with me when you decided your dick was more important than my feelings.”

“But Kurt,” Blaine said, voice smooth and placating and just a bit patronizing, (and judging from that stink-eye that Kurt leveled in Blaine’s direction, Kurt heard it, too). “I love you.”

Kurt honestly looked sorry at that, like he still hadn’t believed that Blaine could be so blind. “No, you don’t, Blaine. And even if you really did, I’m sorry. But I don’t love you, if I ever really did. I’ve moved on.”

Blaine looked like he’d been hit by a shovel. Kurt softened, just a little bit, and sighed. “Now, while I think it was a dumbass move to transfer school for a high school relationship, especially one that _doesn’t exist_ , what’s done is done. I’m willing to work with you in glee and in classes as long as we both treat this situation with maturity and aplomb.”

“Deal,” Blaine said, holding out his hand. Kurt hesitated, but shook. Puck didn’t buy it. It was too quick a turn around. Blaine held out his arm. “May I escort you into the school?”

“No,” Kurt said, “but you can lead the way.”

Blaine hesitated, not sure how to act with Kurt undercutting him, and Puck didn’t even bother to hide his grin. No way was Kurt going to turn his back on Blaine. After a moment, Blaine turned and led the way into the school. Puck walked next to Kurt and put an arm around Kurt’s shoulder, bumping their hips together as they walked. Kurt flashed a relieved smile at Puck.

Puck raised his eyebrows and nodded in Blaine’s direction.

Kurt rolled his eyes and shrugged.

Finn walked up on Kurt’s other side and mimed jacking off. Puck snorted, but Kurt laughed out loud. Making Blaine glance over his shoulder in concern. 

“You have no idea how accurate that is,” Kurt said to Finn.

Once in the school, they walked quickly to the choir room. Puck never liked being in the school when classes were out—A, because it was school, duh, and B, because it reminded him of too many scenes out of too many horror movies. He owned a copy of _After School Special_ , thank you, and knowing that it really happened was more than enough for him.

They heard Rachel before they saw her. The choir room door was open, and Puck followed Blaine into the room, he heard her say, “…review of Classic Broadway would really wow the judges!”

“Oh, fuck no,” Puck said. “No Broadway.”

Kurt elbowed him, and Puck’s breath left in a huff, dropping his arm. Kurt really needed to mind how sharp his elbows were.

“It depends on the show, obviously,” Kurt said.

“Exactly,” Berry said, turning to Kurt. She stopped, jaw dropping. “Kurt!”

“What?” Kurt said. “Why is everyone doing that?”

Santana snorted. “Because you actually look butch for once,” she called out.

“Santana,” Schue interjected, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“No, no,” Santana said. “It’s a good thing. You look hot, Hummel. Better than last time.”

“But his lips are still as soft,” Brittany said, dreamily. “You can tell.”

Puck grinned, because yeah. Kurt’s lips were super soft, soft enough that it was hard to believe that his words could be so very sharp. Mercedes was looking at Puck with narrowed eyes, and Puck wondered just what look was on his face. He kept his grin on for her, though, and after a moment she snorted and shook her head.

“Oh my God,” Kurt said, resting his face in his palm. “I don’t need to justify my clothes to anybody but my bank account.” He turned, paused, and turned back. “And whatever musicals you were thinking of, Rachel? Don’t.” He turned and headed for his usual seat in the back row, and Puck followed, wondering if Kurt had always picked his seats for maximum coverage and visibility. He probably did.

It wasn’t until Puck was seated that he realized nobody had reacted strangely to Blaine. That meant nobody was surprised by Blaine being there. Puck would have thought _somebody_ would have mentioned it to Kurt, if only to get Kurt’s thoughts to feed the gossip pool. He looked at Kurt, and Kurt looked back, face showing his resignation to being the last to know. Again. Puck places a hand on Kurt’s thigh, and after a moment, Kurt covered Puck’s hand with his own.

“Well,” Schue said, clapping his hands. “It’s nice to see that we’re off to a good start!”

Puck shook his head and Kurt closed his eyes as if in pain. Finn, who sat on Kurt’s other side, cocked his head.

“Let’s start off by getting caught up. First, I’d like to introduce the newest member of New Directions!” Schue clapped, and the club half-heartedly clapped along. “You all recognize Blaine Anderson, former head of The Dalton Academy Warblers. Blaine has decided to join us at McKinley this year, and I think he’ll be a great asset on our road to Nationals!” He clapped again, and Blaine stood.

“I know all of us haven’t always been on the same side,” Blaine said, not seeing or deliberately ignoring the way Santana barked out a laugh at that, “but what’s past is past. Now, I’m a member of New Directions, and we’re going to go all the way!”

“Is it bad to want to slushie a member of your own club?” Puck whispered to Kurt, who bit his lip so he wouldn’t laugh.

Schue stood, clapping his hands as Blaine sat. “Excellent! Thank you, Blaine. Now, we’ll go around the room, and say what your summer was like, and what you’d like to accomplish this year!”

“Joy,” Kurt muttered. Puck shifted back in his seat and rested his arm around the back of Kurt’s chair. To be honest, Puck could give a crap about how most of them had spent the summer. The entire time he was away, only Finn had tried to contact him with anything approaching regularity.

Idly, Puck ran his thumb along the seam in Kurt’s shirt. Kurt seemed to relax by degrees into the simple touch, so that when the time to tell came to him, Kurt was no longer ready to spit fire.

“Let’s see. I spent the summer in Sioux Falls with my uncle Bobby. Blaine and I ended for reasons that are absolute and absolutely none of your business. I spent some time with my cousins and Puck, who was also in Sioux Falls for the summer, and was really there for me when I needed him.” Puck smirked, because while they all would guess correctly about the emotional need, none of them would guess about needing Puck to watch his back as they fought the legions of Leviathan. “Anything else?” Kurt turned to Puck, as if asking, and then turned back to the room, saying brightly, “Oh, and I have a new boyfriend, now. One that I think is better for me, and will grow into a partnership that will really last.”

Looking around, Puck noticed that most of the room looked stunned. Well, Quinn looked like she could give a rat’s ass, and Santana looked positively gleeful. Rachel and Mercedes both looked heartbroken—and wasn’t that just a _little_ extreme—and even Blaine looked a bit stunned. Must have been the “new boyfriend” bit.

“Well,” Puck said. “I spent—”

“You broke up with _Blaine?_ ” Mercedes said, and quickly covered her mouth, like she hadn’t meant to ask the question, but couldn’t quite help it.

Kurt sighed. “Yes. And as I said, it’s really none of your business why. Now, it’s Puck’s turn.”

“But—“ Rachel said.

“It’s okay, Rachel,” Blaine said. “Really. You don’t need to protest on my behalf.”

“Damn right she doesn’t,” Santana said. “What’d you do, fuck someone else?”

“Santana! Watch your language!” Schue said, covered both Kurt’s “Here we go,” and Blaine’s scandalized “What?!”

“Sorry,” Santana said. “You want me to ask it in Spanish?” She looked around. “What are you all looking at? Kurt isn’t the kind of guy to dump someone without good reason, and as starry-eyed as he was, the only thing I can think was that the Hobbit slept around and got caught.”

“You’re really good at that,” Kurt said, bracing his elbow on his knee and leaning his head on his palm, fingers curling over his chin. 

Santana shrugged. “It’s a gift,” she said, settling back and crossing her arms and legs. “I know people.”

“You do,” Kurt said. “It’s still private.” 

“That doesn’t make it untrue,” Santana said. Brittany was glaring at Blaine, like he was responsible for the death of every last fluffy creature on the planet. Puck considered; knowing how Brittany liked Kurt, she might honestly feel that way.

Schue was holding his face in his hands. “Somebody else? Puck, it’s your turn.”

Puck looked around. “I spent the summer learning to be a badass demon hunter, polishing my badass ninja skills.” He paused, waiting for the dismissing looks to come and go. “Oh, and I started dating Kurt,” he said and leaned back, arms behind his head, and waited.

“No you’re not,” Rachel said. “You’re just saying that to cause trouble.”

“No, no,” Quinn said. “I can see it.” Puck looked over at her, surprised. “I think you’ll be good for each other.” She flushed slightly, and shrugged. She meant it. Puck nodded at her.

“I can’t,” Artie said. “Puck, you’re the Puckasaurus! You’re all about the ladies.”

“I’m still all about the ladies,” Puck said, shrugging. “I’m just also all about the dudes. Well, _dude_.” He wrapped his arm around Kurt. “This dude.”

Kurt turned to face him, smiling, and Puck leaned in for a quick “couple kiss,” no tongue, but far more familiar than he’d give his sister.

“Right on,” Sam said into the stunned silence. Rachel still looked ready to cry, but Mercedes was considering, and gave a dark side-look to Blaine. “Mazel Tov, right?” Sam said, somehow managing to mangle the pronunciation.

Puck shook his head. “Yeah, close enough.”

“Awesome,” Sam said.

“Oh!” Brittany said. “That means it’s my turn! This summer, I was abdicated by aliens.”

Next to her, Santana hung her head, muttering in Spanish and Schue closed his eyes and sighed.


	4. What They Thought They Had Killed

Gabriel was acting funny.

Sam paused in his reading as the thought crossed his mind; usually, when he researched, he was able to push those worries aside. This time, however, the worry wouldn’t leave him be. There was something up with Gabriel.

Sam hadn’t told Dean about it, because Dean would just say that Gabriel _always_ funny. This was different. Cas had been giving Sam sympathetic looks, but Sam hadn’t told Cas, either, because he would tell Dean, and Dean would get very concerned because it was _Cas_ telling him something was wrong, and it would all get very blown out of proportion and Sam—

Sam was really over the big dramatic relationships. Yes, he was dating Gabriel. Yes, that meant over the top…everything. But that was Gabriel, not—

Oh, Sam didn’t really know _what_ he wanted. He just knew he was tired and that Gabriel was acting strange and Sam couldn’t take another loved one fucking off to go crazy. Losing Gabriel the first time had been hard enough. At least when Dean had died, he had a pretty good chance of getting his brother _back_.

Sam sat on the edge of the bed he shared with Gabriel. It was soft, bigger than most kings he had slept in, and covered in the softest cotton sheets. Sometimes, the sheets were satin or silk and in deep sumptuous colors. Those days, the bed would be piled with pillows and draped in gauze like Sam was living inside of his own personal _I Dream of Jeanie_ lamp. When Sam had made a comment of the sort to Gabriel, the archangel had grinned around his lollypop, folded his arms, and bobbed his head, complete with sound effect, to stand before Sam in his most common female form, dressed like Barbra Eden.

Then again, the censors would never have let Barbra Eden get away with _that_ much sheer fabric.

Or cut-outs in those places.

Or the very obvious _lack_ of underwear.

These days, their bedroom only looked like a harem room when Dean looked inside. The rest of the time, the room looked as it did now; cream-colored walls, white cotton sheets with an admittedly cuddly blue comforter, and a large space for Sam’s desk. It was, in short, Sam’s perfect room.

But it wasn’t _their_ room.

Sam wasn’t an idiot. He knew what the signs were pointing too. Gabriel was pulling away, and Sam really couldn’t blame him; what would an archangel/semi-retired pagan god want with _Sam_ anyway? He always knew Gabriel would get bored sooner or later, which was why Sam had never tried to tie him down before.

It had started with distraction. Gabriel would be caught staring off into space, and after the third time, Sam had asked if everything was okay. Gabriel had snapped at Sam, and Sam had been so taken aback that he couldn’t really remember much besides the tone. Gabriel had apologized later that day and more than made up for it that night, but the blank moments never stopped. Then, Gabriel would drift off mid-conversation. Then mid-sentence. Soon, Gabriel was absent more than present, and while he was really _present_ when he was around, he really wasn’t around much.

With a sigh, Sam forced himself to go back to his book. He had been walking through the stacks when this book seemed to jump out at him. Not physically jump, but something about the binding, or the gilt in the embossing of the title, caught his eye and wouldn’t let go. He had grabbed it without thinking too much on it, and now he was reading about the war in heaven, and wondering just what, exactly, was sending out warning bells.

He needed more research.


	5. New World Order: Kurt

Kurt knew the summer had changed him. He knew it in the way his father would look at him and in the way Finn would get this little frown when Kurt said something that he’d never dared to say aloud before. Carole, bless her heart, hadn’t noticed, and if she had, she kept it to herself which was more tact that he had given her credit for. She was a lovely woman, and Kurt liked her as his stepmother, but she was still _Finn’s_ mother and sometimes spoke without thinking it through.

Kurt had spent the night before staring into his closet of fashionable armor, and wondering if any of it would even _fit_. He had gained muscle in his training, and height, and while he was sure he could have made something work, he hadn’t been sure he wanted to. He still wasn’t sure. In the end, he had decided to wear what he had over the summer. He had faced down True Evil. He didn’t need to hide from a group of teenagers.

Things had gone smoothly when he and Finn had left the house to pick up Puck, and Finn had even looked away while Puck leaned in to kiss Kurt hello in a very pointed _I think it’s awesome you’re happy, so I’m going to give you some privacy_ way, which was nice of him. Seeing Puck had affirmed Kurt’s decisions: he didn’t _need_ high fashion to prove he was special, he didn’t need to prove he was special _at all_. He knew it. Puck knew it. Those that mattered knew it, and that was all right with him.

And it wasn’t like he was going to be rid of it forever; some of those clothes were just too awesome to _not_ be worn. He still liked to stand out, to show off and strut, but that could wait until tomorrow.

Then Blaine had shown up, and for a brief moment it was as if the summer had never happened. All the hurt had welled up and it didn’t matter that Kurt had had a hand in saving the world from Leviathan, that he was a crack shot with his rifle and with the Smith & Wesson he had in the lockbox under his bed. It didn’t matter that he had spent the summer bonding with the best Hunters the world had ever seen, had shown a fallen angel Lady Gaga, or sang Rogers and Hammerstein to the archangel Gabriel. In that moment, all Kurt wanted to do was punch Blaine in the face and cry and hide, maybe all three at once, and it was only his training that had him fold his arms and glare until he could get himself under control and remember just who he was.

He was Kurt Elizabeth Hummel, and he didn’t take shit from anybody, especially not his douchebag of an ex.

Puck was a solid presence at his side, and Kurt was grateful; even here, they still had each other’s back. It gave him hope as he confronted Blaine. In his more dramatic moments, Kurt might had said that Blaine’s words were his worst nightmare come true, but Kurt fought _monsters_ as his _birthright_ ; Blaine didn’t scare him.

And just like that, with that simple realization, Kurt felt himself ease. Blaine didn’t’ scare him. Nothing in the building before him truly scared him. As they walked inside, Puck wrapped his arm around Kurt’s shoulders and Kurt bumped their hips together, feeling invincible.

The feeling continued through the club’s reaction to both his outfit (which was none of their business), his breakup with Blaine, (also, none of their business, not that they’d believe it), and his relationship with Puck (and really, blatant disbelief? Did Puck really never ping on anybody else? Nobody else caught what Puck meant when he’d bragged about trying anything once? Or that the thing with April Rhodes had been with Matt as well?)

Either way, the feeling lasted until Schue said the words, “benefit concert.” Kurt snapped back into focus, saying sharply; “What?”

Luckily, it was said into a cascade of excited voices as everyone started talking at once. “Budget cuts,” Puck said into Kurt’s ear. “We won’t have the money to go to Nationals if we don’t do some fundraising.”

“Well,” Kurt muttered back, “It’s better than a car wash.”

“Says who?” Puck grumbled. “I was looking forward to see you all soapy-wet in your bathing suit. Maybe some of those cut off short-shorts.”

Kurt snorted softly. “Nice try. I’m not, actually, an exhibitionist, you know.”

Puck just hummed, and leaned in close, his breath hot along Kurt’ jaw, his ear, as he whispered, “Liar.” Kurt shivered, but didn’t deny it. Puck smirked and pulled away. Kurt shifted in his seat, very glad he hadn’t worn his skinny jeans. Puck’s grip on Kurt’s shoulder tightened, knowing why Kurt was fidgety, and breathed in sharply. “Do they really need us here for this?” Puck said. “I mean, we’re going to do what Berry wants, anyway, and I have the key to the boiler room.”

“Tempting,” Kurt said dryly, though if here were being honest with himself, the idea had merit, “But they’d notice us leaving.”

“Fuck,” Puck sighed, and settled back as Schue finally called them to order.

“All right!” Schue called. “Now, I know you all have ideas about the setlist, and I’d like to take them all into consideration. So, consider this your assignment for this week. I want you to work in groups of two, three, or four, and decide on a song that you will perform at the end of the week that you want on the set list. Then, as a group, we’ll decide on the order, and a group piece to finish the concert.”

“You want to be a group?” Finn whispered, leaning in. 

“Aren’t you pairing with Rachel?” Kurt whispered back. Finn made a face.

“She’s going to make me do Broadway. At least, if you make me do Broadway, it’ll be Broadway I might actually like.”

Puck snorted, and Kurt nodded. “Sure, Finn. You can work with us.”

“Awesome!”

Schue grinned. “Now, there’s a lot of food, so go eat!”

“Food!” Puck called, jumping to his feet with Finn hot on his heels. Kurt followed at a more sedate pace, but not _much_ slower. He hadn’t had more than coffee this morning and he was hungry.

Sure enough, Rachel intercepted Finn on his way to the food line, and Finn longingly looked over his girlfriend’s head at the food table. Kurt sidestepped them neatly, but Rachel called out, “Kurt!”

Kurt sighed, turning. “Yes, Rachel?”

“I was just telling Finn my idea for the benefit, and—”

Kurt held up his hand, cutting her off. “Sorry, Rachel. But Finn and I are working with Puck, and we aren’t doing Broadway.” Kurt didn’t miss the way Finn’s shoulders slumped in relief, but Rachel obviously did.

“What do you mean? I thought—”

Kurt shrugged, cutting her off again. “Sorry, Rachel. Even I know better than to think Broadway can make money around here.”

Rachel’s mouth snapped shut, and Kurt felt a little bad about putting that look on her face, but then Blaine stepped in.

“You’re wrong, Kurt,” Blaine said. “If we can bring Broadway to life for them, they, too, will see it’s magic.”

“Wow,” Kurt said, and shook his head. “Then you two do it, because I’m not.” Kurt turned and grabbed a plate, filling it with food. He reached for the cookies, and found his hand covered by Mercedes’s.” Kurt looked up. Mercedes was frowning.

“First, you show up dressed like Finn. Second, you say you’re dating Puck. Now, you say no to Broadway. Boo, is everything alright?” 

Some part of Kurt registered that Mercedes seemed genuinely concerned, but the rest of him thought it just made it that much worse. Surely, his best friend wouldn’t be second guessing him? His temper flared, and he held his tone even with gritted teeth. “First, if I was dressed like Finn, my clothes would be too big. Second, I’m not just saying I’m dating Puck, I _am_ dating Puck.” Kurt knew his voice was getting louder, higher in pitch as his control started to fray. “And not everything is Broadway, and maybe, just maybe, I’d like my friends to be supportive and not give me the third degree.”

Mercedes let go, narrowing her eyes at him. “Back up and cool down, boy. I’m not coming for you. You just took me by surprise. I barely heard from you all summer, and then you came back all different.”

Kurt deflated. “Sorry,” he said. “Things change, ‘Cedes.”

Mercedes looked at him for a long minute. “I guess they do.” She held out her arm and Kurt felt his frustration ease. He truly _had_ missed Mercedes, despite her occasional narrow-mindedness. He leaned in and hugged her with one arm, smiling at the familiar way she hugged back.

“For the record,” Mercedes whispered into his ear. “I have seen that boy mostly naked. If there’s anything you feel like sharing with the class? I will listen.”

Kurt snorted. “You’re a pervert,” he said, “and everyone’s seen him mostly naked.”

“Takes one to know one,” Mercedes shot back, pulling away just enough to let Kurt see her look over to him. “You fuck him, yet?”

Kurt just raised an eyebrow at her. Of course he had, but not many people would think that way.

Mercedes smirked. “Please. That boy has bottom written all over him, whether he’s with a woman or not. And as fabulous as you can be, you are too damn bossy.”

Kurt looked around. “For the record,” he said, then dropped his voice. “We’ve played it both ways, and will continue to do so.” He paused, letting that sink in. “But you’re right; the first time.”

Mercedes giggled. “You go get you some, Kurt,” she said, and stepped back.

“I fully intend to,” Kurt said.

“I like the sound of that,” Puck said, coming up behind Kurt and wrapping an arm around Kurt’s chest, curling into him.

“Hmm,” Kurt said. “I thought you might,” and without really thinking about it, turned his head to share a quick kiss. 

Between one breath and the next, Rachel was next to him, a tiny vessel of self-righteous indignation. “I can’t believe you, Kurt.” She said. “I really had thought better of you.”

Kurt raised an eyebrow, not quite sure what she was talking about but not ready to let her know that. If he waited long enough, she would tell him. It was never a long wait.

“To see you abandon your Broadway roots is not only disappointing, but disheartening. Of everyone here, I thought _you_ might be able to see reason.”

“And that’s the difference between us, Rachel,” Kurt said. “I never assume you’ll see reason.”

Rachel paled, then turned red and Mercedes took a step back, breathing a low “oh, no,” as she did. Puck didn’t move away, but Kurt could feel him shift into position, ready to defend Kurt.

Rachel opened her mouth, breathing in deep to strike and Kurt felt his world slow down, everything perfectly clear as he prepared his counter attack.

Kurt held up his hand. “Don’t even. I know you follow the same Broadway news sites as I do; you know the struggle to get a young audience interested in classic Broadway as much as I do. The audience isn’t there for people who are willing to pay Broadway prices, let alone a ten-dollar benefit ticket. We need something that doesn’t have the “Broadway” label if we’re going to sell tickets. We can convince them of the glory of the musical once we have their money.”

Rachel closed her mouth and shook her head. “Very mercenary of you, Kurt. Quite frankly, I’m surprised. But then again,” she looked at Puck. “I don’t know why I expected anything different.” She sniffed and stomped away.

“Are you entirely sure she doesn’t need an exorcism?” Puck muttered. “Because that was some evil bitchery right there.”

Kurt shook his head. “As sad as I am to say it, that’s classic Rachel, though I’m sure it’s been augmented by her new duet buddy,” he said. He nodded towards the other end of the choir room where Rachel was talking very fast to Blaine. Blaine was nodding along, but his eyes were on Kurt and something in them made Kurt shiver.

“You okay?” Puck asked.

“Yeah,” Kurt said, shaking it off. After this summer, he was just seeing shadows.


	6. It Never Rains But It Pours

Dean was a light sleeper. He always has been, waking up at every noise and bump that Sam or John had made. Most of the time, he went back to sleep. Sometimes, it had saved his life.

The point is, that when Cas stopped sleeping through the night, Dean knew.

Dean knew when Cas would wake suddenly from a dead sleep, would toss and turn in a nightmare before gasping awake, and would drag himself out of a disquieting slumber. Dean always knew.

Sometimes, when Cas was visibly frightened, Dean would let him know he was awake and comfort him even as Cas told him he couldn’t remember why he was so frightened.

Other times, when Cas wasn’t visibly frightened, but his tossing had woken Dean anyway, Dean would roll over and pin Cas to the mattress with his arm, letting it go heavy with dead weight, and would wait for Cas to settle back into sleep.

Rarely, but often enough to concern him all the same, Cas would wake and get out of bed. Dean was left behind, lying awake and worrying until his alarm went off.

Dean had mentioned Cas’s lack of sleep to Sam, and Sam had given him this look like Dean had read his mind and was afraid of what Dean would find. Still, Sam had said he’d look into it on the side and would let Dean know, privately, what he had found. Dean had thanked him and hesitated; there was something bothering Sam. There had been for a while, but Sam could sit on a secret like a hen hatching an egg. Dean hated the waiting game, but instead of pushing the issue, he had let Sam be. He couldn’t let it go for long, not when he would need Sam at his best in the field, but he could give his little brother that luxury a little while longer. He had to remind himself when Sam turned up no information day after day. 

He had had enough by the next time he was woken from a solid sleep by Cas climbing from the bed.

“Cas?” Dean said, voice thick with sleep.

Cas paused in the doorway. “It’s okay, Dean. Go back to sleep.”

Dean sighed. “It’s not okay,” he said. “It hasn’t been okay for a while. Something’s bothering you.” He watched as Cas bowed his head. “Talk to me, Cas.”

“It’s nothing,” Cas said. “Just some bad dreams.”

Dean raised an eyebrow, even if Cas couldn’t see it. Or maybe he could. Cas wasn’t exactly clear on where his senses stopped on the human to angel scale. “Every night?”

Cas didn’t answer, but then again, Dean didn’t need him to. He pushed himself up, tucking his pillow behind him for support, and turned on the bedside lamp. Cas was still in the doorway, facing outward, and in the yellow light Dean could see the tense lines of his shoulders through the Metallica shirt Cas kept stealing to sleep in.

“You want to talk about it?” Dean asked, and in his mind he heard the question echo though his past, remembering Sam’s night terrors at the boogeyman that was only ever rarely in his closet.

It was enough to make Cas turn, if only to level Dean with a flat look. Dean patted the empty bed next to him. “It’s been weeks, Cas,” Dean said. “Maybe talking will help purge them.”

After a moment Cas slumped, but climbed back into the bed, settling easily enough against Dean’s side, face pressed to Dean’s chest. “That’s the problem,” he said into Dean’s left pectoral. “I don’t remember.”

Dean blinked down at Cas’s head. “You don’t remember anything?” he asked, surprised.

Cas shifted. “I just said so, didn’t I?” he snapped, testy. Dean ran a soothing hand down Cas’s back and he slowly settled. These dreams must really be bothering him.

“Well,” Dean said, slowly. “It’s not uncommon to forget bad dreams,” he said.

“That’s not true,” Cas said. “Most people only remember nightmares.”

“Oh yeah?” Dean asked. “How do you know that?”

Cas shrugged, his shirt catching on Dean’s chest. “I Googled it.”

Dean nodded, and resisted the urge to laugh. The image of Cas hunched over Sam’s computer pecking out words letter by letter would never _not_ be funny. Of course, Cas had learned in months since he had fallen, and no longer pecked at technology like an overgrown bird, but somehow it was easier to think of it that way.

“We’ll figure it out,” Dean said. “Do you want to try to sleep some more or do you want me to keep the light on?”

“You can turn it off,” Cas said and Dean did, stretching awkwardly to keep from jostling Cas too much. He settled back against the headboard, still mostly upright, but comfortable enough wrapped around Cas that he could feel sleep tugging at his eyes.

“I’m scared, Dean,” Cas said quietly into the darkness. Dean squeezed him tighter, and made a mental note to talk to Sam about his findings in the morning.

“We’ll figure it out together,” he said. “I promise.”


	7. The Setlist: Puck

Puck sank back onto the bed, panting even as his heartbeat began to slow. Kurt stretched next to him, all long lines on sweat-damp skin, and turned to him with a satisfied smile.

“I feel so much better,” Kurt muttered, tucking his hands behind his head. Puck smirked, preening, and rolled over just enough to pull Kurt in, to tuck himself along Kurt’s side and hook his chin over Kurt’s shoulder. Kurt giggled and twined their fingers together.

“It _was_ nice of Finn to make himself scarce for a while,” Puck said. They were in Kurt’s room, the rest of the house empty as Burt was at the Garage and Carole was at the Hospital. They didn’t know quite where Finn was, but as they lay in the quiet, they heard the garage door, then Finn’s unmistakable footsteps before he called out to them.

“I have milkshakes!”

Kurt tilted his head, considering. “I can move for milkshakes.”

Puck’s stomach rumbled and they both looked down at it. “I can, too, apparently,” Puck said. “And maybe a sandwich.”

“Mmm,” Kurt said. “Sandwich.” He pushed playfully at Puck. “Move! I’m hungry. You’ve worn me out and now I need to eat.”

Puck laughed, holding Kurt tighter as his fingers sought Kurt’s sides. “Never! I’m going to keep you here until you waste away! Muahahah!”

Kurt giggled, twisting away from Puck’s fingers, and rolled from the bed. He landed on the balls of his feet automatically, crouched and ready and Puck had to grin. Damn but fighter Kurt was sexy.

“Uh guys?” Finn called from the bottom of the stairs.

“Coming Finn!” Kurt called back, standing and picking up his pants. Puck resigned himself to getting up, and searched for his boxers.

Finn was sitting at the kitchen table with a half-drunk milkshake when they finally made their way down the stairs. Kurt had ditched his overshirt and Puck was shoeless, but they were both decent and neither were missing anything too incriminating if Burt or Carole came home early.

Puck grabbed a milkshake while Kurt went for napkins and took a sip. He paused, considering the flavor—white chocolate and raspberry—and placed it in front of Kurt’s place. He grabbed the other—chocolate and peanut butter—and sipped happily.

“So…” Finn started as Kurt sat down, stirring his shake with his straw in an attempt to appear nonchalant. “I was thinking about our song for the assignment.”

“No Journey,” Kurt said, putting down his milkshake for emphasis. “We can choose another band from that particular era and genre, but no Journey.”

Finn slumped, and Puck hid his smile behind his straw. He nudged Kurt’s foot with his own. “You have a plan,” he said. “Tell ‘em and make him stop pouting.”

Finn nodded, pouting exaggeratedly at Kurt. Kurt sipped primly. “Well,” he said. “I was thinking we could email Uncle Bobby, to see if they wanted to come to the concert.” Kurt turned to Finn. “Over the summer, on some nights, we would all hang out and tell stories and sing. I was thinking we could entice them here by performing a number that we sang over the summer.”

“He wants to sing Kansas,” Puck said.

“ _Carry On My Wayward Son,_ to be exact,” Kurt said.

Finn blinked at them. “Are you serious?”

“I never joke about performing, Finn.”

Finn grinned, punching the air with both fists. “Yes! That’s perfect! I know the drums to that; we can play live!”

Puck nodded. He knew the guitar; he played it over the summer. Kurt cocked her head. “I’m sure I can learn the keyboard part by the end of the week.”

“And we can fill in the rest with the Jazz band!” Finn bounced. “This is awesome!” He stood. “They have it on Rock Band. We should go practice that now,” he said and went to set up the controls.

Kurt and Puck shared a grin. “You want to send the invite now?” Puck asked.

“I sent it this afternoon,” Kurt said, shrugging.

“You had no intention of letting us sing anything else, did you?” Puck asked, dryly.

“Naturally,” Kurt said, smirking. “Come on.” He took Puck’s hand and led him into the living room.

***

Things were going so well that, of course, they took a turn the next day.

Kurt drove the three of them to school, once again dressed like he had walked out of a New York fashion magazine, hair coiffed high and pants impractically tight. While Puck had to admit that he had missed Kurt looking like walking art—his boy looked _good_ and those pants made his ass look _tight_ —he missed the accessibility of Kurt’s summer clothes; he never had to worry about mussing the line of oil-stained jeans or blood-splattered flannel.

There was a moment when Kurt was climbing the steps to the school that made Puck pause, wondering if he was still worthy of dating someone so _pristine_. Then Kurt had turned, asking Puck what the holdup was, teasing him about just wanting to stare at Kurt’s ass, wiggling said ass in the meantime. Puck had to jump forward and grab, quickly squeezing at letting go. Kurt laughed, twisting away but playfully, not trying to really get away at all, and Puck felt something ease. This was still _his_ Kurt, no matter how he was dressed.

Puck walked into McKinley holding Kurt’s hand. He hung around Kurt’s locker as he gathered his books, and then kissed him goodbye to head to his own homeroom. There were a few odd looks, but nothing he hadn’t expected or couldn’t handle. First period was much the same.

In the break before second period, Puck walked to his next class, focused more on his schedule than the hall around him, when he realized his way was blocked by a wall of red and white. He looked up to see half the football team, led by Az and Strando and minus the Glocks and—surprisingly—Karofksy, blocking his way.

Puck sighed. “Are we really going to do this?”

“Depends,” Az said. “You really fucking Hummel?”

“He’s my boyfriend,” Puck said. “I ain’t got nothing to hide.”

Az shook his head, and Strando opened his mouth, but at that moment Kurt walked around the corner behind him talking to Karofsky, and they stopped when they saw the scene before them.

It was Karofsky who spoke first. “The fuck are you doing, Az?”

Az jerked his head, face scrunching in a “fuck you say?” expression. “Just clarifying some things. Nothing you’d be interested in.”

“Really?” Karofsky said. “Cause that’s not what it looks like.”

“Whatever,” Strando said. “The Bullywhips were a fucking joke, and they’re over anyway since you couldn’t even get Lopez a freakin’ crown. So get in line or mind your business.”

“Strando,” Karofsky said, false calm, “Shut your face or I’m gonna shut it for you.”

“Nobody’s going to be shutting anyone’s face,” Kurt said. Puck folded his arms, itching for a fight and not happy about needing to play it cool, but willing to see Kurt’s plan. “However, Dave and I were just discussing the meeting time for our first Gay-Straight Alliance meeting. I think it would be beneficial if you all came.”

“That sounds like a wonderful idea, Porcelain,” said Sue Sylvester from behind Puck. He turned, not liking the way she was able to sneak up on him like that. “In fact, I’m going to make it mandatory. Everyone here will be at that meeting, or they’ll be in detention with me, cleaning the cheerleading mats with their tongues.” She bared her teeth. “Nothing gets them cleaner and my Cheerios deserve nothing but the best.”

“Yes, Coach,” the players said in unison. Even Puck and Karofsky said it, and Puck wondered just how she was able to command such power so effortlessly. It was amazing.

One by one the rest of the team disbanded, leaving Puck, Kurt, Karofsky, and Sylvester in the hallway. Puck looked at Karofsky; he seemed nervous, probably because Coach Sylvester was watching him like a cockroach that had stood up and danced a jig. And Strando had been right—the bullywhips _had_ been a ploy for votes, and as honestly regretful as Kurt had said Karofsky had been, Puck was surprised that he was keeping it up. Especially after the disaster of a senior prom.

Still, if Kurt was cool with him, than Puck was cool with him. As long as he stayed in line, anyway.

"Well, now that you three pansies have asserted your dominance, and I have proven, once again, that I am a force of great and terrible power, I have to go lord my superiority over Schuester in a probably vain attempt to force his curly mop to straighten." She paused, and shivered. "There's something not right about hair like that." She raised her eyebrow at them. "And don't you three need to be in class?"

"Yes, Coach," Puck and Karofsky said at once. Kurt just folded his arms, and smirked, whether it was because he resisted her conditioning (and how he broke it after being on the Cheerios, Puck really wanted to know) or because he had a free period, Puck wasn't sure, but he didn't like the way Sylvester's eyes brightened. She nodded, and marched off.

Kurt grabbed Puck's hand, twining their fingers, and pulled him in to kiss his cheek. Puck smiled, holding Kurt close for an extra second.

"For the record," Puck said. "I totally had it covered."

"I know you did," Kurt said. "But there ain't nothing wrong with a little backup."

Puck snorted, because he could _hear_ Bobby in Kurt's voice, lecturing Dean (and Sam, really) about their tendency to sacrifice themselves for the other. He wrapped his arm around Kurt's shoulder, pressing his nose against Kurt's hairline for a moment, just breathing, then looked over at Karofsky—who looked uncomfortable at their display of affection, but in more of an outsider-watching-an-intimate-moment way than in a ew-gross-gays! kind of way. Puck nodded at him in thanks.

Karofsky jerked his chin up in acknowledgement, and Puck could just _feel_ Kurt rolling his eyes. Puck grinned, and said, "Thanks, man. I know we ain't always been cool."

"Well, I did go after your 'boy,'" Karofsky said, voice dry. "Though, I hadn't realized you meant it like this."

Puck laughed, "Yeah, sorry about that."

Karofsky shrugged. "No big. I _was_ being a dick."

Kurt pulled away to look between them. "What are you talking about."

"Last year, after you transferred, Puck came after me when he got out of Juvie. He tossed me around a bit, for what I'd done. It wasn't anything undeserved, and honestly," Karofsky shrugged, flushing a little. "It was a bit of a relief to have someone treat me the way I was treating myself." Karofsky must have seen the surprise on their faces, because he flushed in earnest and said, "I've been seeing a therapist, and she's big on honesty. She told me to be more honest with the people I've hurt. It's hard, but I think it's helping."

"That's good, man," Puck said. Karofsky shrugged.

"Thanks." He adjusted the strap of his backpack on his shoulder. "But I do really need to get to Trig. I'll email you later with some ideas for our first meeting," he said to Kurt. Kurt nodded, and Karofsky turned to go. He paused, looking back over the two of them. "Kurt," he said. "You can tell him, if you want."

Kurt looked surprised. "Are you sure?"

Karofsky laughed, and looked down for a moment. "Not really, but enough. And I've hit my honesty quota for today, so." He shrugged, and jogged off, down the hallway.

"What was that about?" Puck asked. Kurt shook his head.

"Not here," he said. He turned and faced Puck. "You should get to class."

Puck pouted. "I don't want to. Can't I cut and make out with you in the boiler room?"

"Romantic," Kurt said, dry, "But no. Save it for when we've been in school long enough that it feels like we'll never leave."

"It already feels that way," Puck grumbled, but let Kurt kiss him goodbye and send him off to class. The teacher didn't even mark him late, so Puck really couldn't complain. He'd still rather be anywhere but here.

***

Lunch found him at the glee table, which had moved outside to the "senior section," a piece of prime lunchroom real estate, sitting between Kurt and Brittany and attempting to steal tots from Finn. Finn was reliving a moment from the baseball game last night, and was distracted enough by reenacting it, that Puck had eaten almost half of his tots before he noticed.

"Hey!" Finn protested, and Puck smiled at him around a mouthful of tot. Kurt hid his grin in his sandwich.

Down the table, Rachel scoffed, probably at Puck's visible mouthful of half-eaten potatoes, and Puck stuck his tongue out, tots and all. She squealed, and threw a piece of unidentifiable vegan nugget at him.

"I don't see how you can date him, Kurt," she said. "He's disgusting." The repulsion from that end of the table, though silent from Blaine, was palpable.

Kurt, however, just shrugged. "Seeing as you dated him, too, you must know he's not all poor table manners."

Santana snickered, and Kurt grinned at her. "Well, yes, there's that, too, but honestly. We spent a lot of time together this summer, and learned that we have many of the same values. We, well... Connected."

Puck _felt_ the sneering deepen in their direction, and apparently so did Tina, because she changed the subject. "So, does everyone know what they're doing for their song?"

The tension didn't leave, but it did lessen, and Puck said. "We figured it out last night, but you're mind tricks won’t work on me. You'll have to see when everyone else does."

"Damn," Tina said, giggling. "You've uncovered my secret plot."

"We know what we're doing," Blaine said.

"And it will prove to the world that Broadway is an art to be admired," Rachel said. "Well," she amended. "It'll show Lima, anyway."

"Good luck with that," Mike said, and Puck was sure the sarcasm was lost on them both.

"Well, we also figured it out last night," Quinn said. "It was nice to get our little group back together." She smiled at Brittany and Santana, and Brittany beamed back. Santana even gave her a genuine smile.

"We're getting together tonight," Sam said, gesturing at Artie.

"Us, too," Mercedes said, indicating Mike and Tina. Puck was a bit surprised that Mercedes and Sam weren't working together, but either they thought they were fooling people or something had happened over the summer to cool that relationship before it began to heat.

"This is so exciting," Rachel said, bouncing in her seat. Apparently, even the continued slight against Broadway wasn't enough to dampen her spirits when performing was involved.

And if he were being honest with himself, and since that seemed to be the theme of the day today, Puck was excited too.

***

It wasn't until later that night when they were sitting on the bed in Kurt's room—door open because Burt was home—that Puck finally got his answer to his Karofsky question.

"David is...was...well, no, still is in many ways, a troubled young man," Kurt said. "We've spoken a bit about it, since, and..." Kurt sighed. "No, that's not the place to start at all."

Kurt turned and took Puck's hands. "Last year, right before things got really bad, he shoved me into a locker and I, fed up, followed him into the locker room, demanded answers. I thought he was going to hit me." Kurt bit his lip. "He kissed me instead, and everything started to make much more sense."

Puck tensed. "He—he _what?_ "

Kurt sighed. "He kissed me. Honestly, it wasn't much of a kiss, it was too tense a situation for that. I don't blame him for it, not anymore. Not once I really realized everything it meant."

Puck nodded, less willing to let go of his anger. Karofsky had—"Kurt, that could have been bad. Real bad."

Kurt sighed. "So everybody says when I tell them. If David had been a different person, then yes. It could have. But I honestly never thought he would actually hurt me, and if he did try I could have taken him. I've been trained for that, remember."

Puck nodded. It was still hard, sometimes, for him to relate the Kurt he had known before this summer, with the Kurt he knew now, even though he knew they were the same person.

"So Karofsky's gay." Puck thought about it for a minute. "You know, it makes a weird kind of sense."

"Right?" Kurt asked. "Because he's not, well, like me, he had a harder time understanding that he could be gay and not turn into a character from a John Waters play. It's not like there are a lot of examples out there, and his family is kind of the opposite of supportive. But when he went to therapy for his anger management, he broke down and told his therapist. She's been a real rock for him."

"Well, that's good, at least."

Kurt nodded. "Oh," he said. "By the way, I got an email from Sam and Dean."

"Oh yeah?" Puck said, perking up. "Are they coming?"

"To paraphrase, 'Crowley's entire kennel of Hellhounds couldn't keep us away...and that wasn't an invitation to try.'"


	8. The Invitation: Sam

The email had come in the night before, and for once Sam didn't hop to when he heard the chime. Gabriel was home and Sam was too busy soaking up as much of his presence as he could to care. Besides, if it was urgent, Gabriel would know.

Sam didn't know how long he had his lover home for, and he was more than willing to say "fuck the world," until Gabriel was gone again. But it was morning, and Gabriel was still there, asleep in their bed. Once again, he was in his male form, and while it had taken awhile for Sam to get used to waking up spooning a man, it hadn't taken long at all for it to start feeling _right_.

Still not willing to move, or to wake Gabriel, Sam grabbed his phone and checked his messages. There was a text from Dean bitching at him to "keep it down or me n Cas will have to show you how it's done," and three new emails. One was from Geico, and Sam wondered what list he put his name on to get spam at _this_ address. Another was from Garth, saying "hi" and linking him to a Reddit post on creepy children, asking if he thought any of them were worth checking out. Sam marked it for later, and opened the last email from "k.e.hummel."

It was from Kurt, inviting them to Lima for a fundraiser concert. It read:

_Dear Sam,_  
You (and Dean, Cas, Bobby, and Gabriel, naturally) are cordially invited to the first annual fundraiser concert for the McKinley High Stage Choir: The New Directions. The concert is on the last Friday in September. Please R.S.V.P no later than this weekend, as I'll need to talk to my dad about where you'll be staying.  
I hope you can come. Puck and I are performing with Finn, and I think you'll like what we've chosen. I apologize in advance for anything sung by Rachel Berry and Blaine Anderson. (The setlist isn't confirmed yet, but they've been talking about bringing back 'classic Broadway', which to those two, means schmaltz. They will also probably be first in line. *sigh*)  
I hope this finds you well, and that things have really quieted down since Leviathan. I know things are quiet in Lima: they always are. I swear, this place is a deadzone—some kind of supernatural heatsink. And if things aren't calm, well, think of it as a mini vacation.  
I hope to hear from you, soon.  
Kurt 

Sam smiled at the screen on his phone. While a high school concert wasn't high on his list of "things to do," seeing Kurt and Puck again would be nice, and the ability to do "normal" things, like go to crappy school functions of younger family members, was something Sam didn't want to miss. Besides, Kurt and Puck could really sing, so maybe it wouldn't be too bad.

"You're smiling," Gabriel said, and Sam startled. He looked down at Gabriel in the dim light from his phone. Gabriel's eyes were slitted against the light, and glittering with ethereal light in the semi-dark.

"Got an invite from Kurt," Sam said. "Fundraiser concert at the end of the month."

"We're going, of course," Gabriel said, like it had never been in question. And really, in Sam's mind, it hadn't been.

"I'd like to," Sam said. "But I want to talk to Dean before we reply."

"Dean will say yes," Gabriel said. "He's fond of those two." He paused. "As am I." Something tugged at Sam's arm, even though Gabriel's hands were still cocooned in the blanket. "Come back to bed. It's not going to be light for hours yet."

Sam looked at his phone, sure that it was already past dawn, and saw the numbers ticking backwards. He was still tired.

Sam closed his phone and put it on the bedside table, tucking down and wrapping himself around Gabriel.

"Will you stay?" He asked into the darkness, and felt Gabriel tense slightly. "At least until the concert, I...I miss you."

The tension leached out of Gabriel and Sam felt himself enveloped. He knew, on some level, that he wasn't actually feeling feathers, but it was hard to convince his brain of that when he was sure that he was wrapped up in angel wings.

"I miss you, too, Samsquach," Gabriel said quietly. "And I will do everything I can, I promise."

It wasn't quite the answer Sam was looking for, leaving a loophole, and confirming some of Sam's fears that there was something else going on.

"I wish you would tell me what's going on," Sam said. "I'm not dumb, I know there's _something._ "

Gabriel laughed softly. "There is something," he said. "And they didn't believe me when I told them you'd notice. Fool on them."

"Who is 'they'?" Sam asked.

"Heaven," Gabriel said. "The events of the past few years have left something of a power vacuum and, well, chaos. That’s the ‘something.’ I've been helping to rebuild, but I know how tired you are of Heaven's crap. I wanted to keep you out of it."

Sam took a deep breath. "Are they going to try and draft us as vessels again?"

"Not while I'm around," Gabriel said. He hesitated. "That's not all."

Sam sighed. "It never is," he said, thinking this was it. Gabriel would tell him there was someone else, someone less broken. Less _human_.

Gabriel sat up, pulling away. The light in the room brightened so Sam could see Gabriel's face even though the lights stayed dim. Gabriel looked horrified.

"You forget that I can read what you're thinking," Gabriel said. "Samalam—Sam. You would doubt me, so?" Sam opened his mouth to protest, but Gabriel lay a hand to his lips. "I know your reasons, and I can't blame you. It sure looked like steppin' out from your point of view." Gabriel stroked Sam's hair. “I only meant that, well, with Heaven getting back on track, I’ve been picking up the slack on my old job. The just deserts, gig.” Gabriel rocked Sam. “I know how you don’t like it, and I didn’t want to worry you.” 

Sam sighed. “So it was better to make me think you were...” he trailed off, not wanting to even think it.

Gabriel grimaced. “Yeah, I didn’t think that one through.” He put a hand under Sam’s chin and raised his face to meet his gaze. "What happened to your self confidence, huh? You're the human who denied Lucifer."

Sam closed his eyes. "I'm not used to getting to keep what I want," he said, quietly.

The wings around Sam squeezed tighter. "I'm sorry I made you doubt me," Gabriel said. "I want to be here, I really do. But the things in heaven need my real attention, and I didn't think you'd appreciate being left with a copy—as flawless as they are."

"You're right," Sam said. He knew how worse it would have been to discover a doppelgänger where Gabriel was supposed to be.

"On the other hand," Gabriel—a _second_ Gabriel—said, curling around Sam's back. "Sometimes, we can be fun."

"Lots of fun," said Gabriel number three from the foot of the bed.

Sam opened his eyes to see the smirk on Gabriel's face. All three of them. He snorted, but he was tempted.

Gabriel's grin grew wider as he came closer. He knew it, too.


	9. Decisions: Kurt

Thursday, the first of the groups were to perform their selections for their song. Friday would see the last two, and they would vote on the finale. They would then have two-weeks of rehearsal (something that had surprised Kurt, seeing as most of their performances were done by the seat of their pants), and the performance would be Friday night.

Kurt walked into the choir room on Thursday to see Puck and Finn already there in the back, huddled together and whispering. Rachel and Blaine were seated front and center, and their noses went up when Kurt walked by. Whatever. Kurt had been snubbed by better than them, and he was not about to let himself be hurt by it.

Sitting next to Puck, Kurt offering his cheek to be kissed. Puck complied, pressing his lips to Kurt's cheek in an exaggerated smooch, smacking his lips to make Kurt laugh. Finn grinned at them.

"You guys are adorable," Finn said.

"We're badasses," Puck said, leaning back in his chair and slinging an arm around Kurt. "Badasses aren't adorable."

"Except in our case, when being adorable is the most badass thing we can be," Kurt said.

Puck grinned. "The double-badass-bluff."

"Indeed," Kurt said. "So what were you two whispering about?"

"When we should perform our song," Finn said. "We're ready, we just didn't know if you wanted a big reveal or not."

Kurt shrugged. "I don't see how when we go matters. We're not going first, that much I know."

"Yeah," Finn said. He dropped his voice. "Don't tell Rachel, but I'm not upset about not going first."

"I won't tell," Kurt said, equally soft.

"That's assuming she'll ever talk to you again," Puck added. "With Blaine in her ear, she might not."

"With Blaine in her ear, I don't want her to," Kurt muttered. Louder, he said, "We'll play it by ear. If we're looking to fill a gap, we'll volunteer. Otherwise, we'll wait until the end and blow 'em away."

Finn nodded, and Puck squeezed Kurt. "You just want the dramatic reveal," he teased. Kurt sniffed, lifting his chin, but he didn't deny it. It was a simple matter of program structure. The only piece bigger than the opening number is the finale. That was the reason why Kurt would always outshine Rachel: she was so eager to show off that she lost the power of the position.

Sure enough, when Schue entered, Rachel's hand went up. Schue faltered in his step, she hadn't even let him get to the front of the room, but recovered enough to greet them first.

"Good Afternoon, everyone," he said, and the room responded half-heartedly as Schue was already focused on Rachel. "Yes, Rachel?"

Rachel dropped her hand to her lap and cleared her throat with a gentle "ahem", and said, "Blaine and I have prepared a rousing piece that I know you agree will make a stellar opening number, as well as rekindle a love of broadway in the general masses of Lima."

The club groaned, nearly as one, and Santana said loudly, "Just freakin' shoot me." Rachel glared up at her over her shoulder, but Santana just sneered back.

"Guys! Guys! Santana!" Schue said, trying to call order. "Come on, you know better than this. Give Rachel the same respect you would want." He began to clap as Rachel and Blaine jumped up to the microphone, and Kurt joined in reluctantly. Blaine finger-shot Brad, and Kurt blinked. When did Brad get here? He narrowed his eyes, and resolved to make an entry in his Hunter’s Journal to ask Sam about pianists with subtle teleporting powers. 

Then Blaine started to sing.

_There once was a man who loved a woman_  
She was the one he slew a dragon for  
They say that nobody ever loved as much as he-ee  
But me-ee  
I love you more. 

And Rachel called out, “Tell me!”

"Oh God," Kurt whispered, horrified. "It's [_The Pajama Game,_](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Bzv4jOTuwjw&feature=slpl)."

"I don't know what that is," Puck said, sounding equally appalled, "but I don't like it." Finn whimpered.

Rachel played off Blaine, responding in spoken word to his lyrics, than she sang her verse:

_There once was a woman who loved a man_  
He was the one that she took poison for  
They say that nobody ever loved as much as she-ee  
But me-ee, I love you more 

Kurt felt a pain pulse behind his right eye as Rachel belted the long notes, and he raised a hand to massage his temple. They even kept the original choreography; though, while that showed a lack of imagination, watching Rachel mock beat-up Blaine was strangely therapeutic.

_My love's meteoric, it's merely historic_  
A whirlwind, a cyclone on wheels  
It rocks my whole solar plexus,  
It's bigger than Texas  
I just can't tell you how it feels  
I only know there once was a woman  
Who loved a man  
Loved him enough to cause the Trojan War  
They say that nobody ever loved as much as she-ee  
But me-ee,  
I love you more! more! more! more! 

Blaine straightened, like he was going to “fight back,” and they started the back and forth that signaled the end of the song, each fighting for the spotlight more than each other’s attention.

_More than a hangman loves his rope_  
More than a dopefiend loves his dope  
More than an Injun loves his scalps  
More than a yodeler loves his alps  
More More More more more! 

_Blaine: There once was a man who loved a woman_  
RACHEL: there once was a woman who loved a man  
BLAINE: She was the one he slew the dragon for  
RACHEL: He was the one that she took poison for  
BLAINE // RACHEL: They say that nobody ever loved as much as he-ee // she-ee  
BOTH: But me-ee, I love you more!  
But me-ee-ee-ee-ee! I love you more! 

Now, don't get Kurt wrong. There was a special place in his heart for classic Broadway. He had even, in fact, watched this very musical _with_ Rachel, and on more than one occasion. But—you don't inflict this type of schmaltz on an unsuspecting crowd—you just _don't_. Kurt looked over at Schue, and had to close his eyes. Schue _liked_ it. Couldn't he see what Kurt saw?

No, of course he couldn't. That would make Kurt's life too easy.

The pair ended with a true Broadway finish, arms spread and grinning big, and Kurt clapped anyway, because they _were_ spirited.

"All right!" Schue said. "Now that's the kind of energy I'd like to see! I think that's a contender for first number."

Rachel grinned, but Santana stood up, dragging Brittany and Quinn with her. "Oh, hell no," Santana said. "We start with that, the audience will leave _and_ demand their money back. You start a show with _this_."

The three of them struck a pose and the music started on cue. Kurt grinned and the room relaxed now that it was out of Broadway and into something of which they were actually alive for the release.

Santana took the first verse:

_A scrub is a guy that thinks he's fine_  
And is also known as a buster  
Always talkin' about what he wants  
And just sits on his broke ass  
So (no) 

Brittany joined her, Santana holding her hand high as Brittany circled her:

_I don't want your number (no)_  
I don't want to give you mine and (no)  
I don't want to meet you nowhere (no)  
I don't want none of your time and (no) 

Quinn joined in on the chorus, the three of them moving in unison in V formation.

_I don't want no scrub_  
A scrub is a guy that can get no love from me  
Hangin' out the passenger side  
Of his best friend's ride  
Tryin' to holla at me  
I don't want no scrub  
A scrub is a guy that can't get no love from me  
Hangin' out the passenger side  
Of his best friend's ride  
Tryin' to holler at me 

Quinn took the next verse, and Kurt was surprised to see that she was actually smiling. Who knew?

_There's a scrub checkin' me_  
But his game is kinda weak  
And I know that he cannot approach me  
Cuz I'm lookin' like class and he's lookin' like trash  
Can't get wit' a dead-beat ass  
So (no) 

It wasn’t surprising that these three could rock the trio performance the way they were; they started as a trio and it was hard to lose those connections. Kurt felt the tension that had built during the day, that had increased when Rachel and Blaine had performed, ease and he found himself dancing in his seat. Puck noticed, leaning close to move with Kurt, and Kurt started to really enjoy himself.

No, the real surprise was when Brittany stepped forward:

_See, if you can’t spatially expand my horizons,_  
Then that leaves you in a class with scrubs  
Neva rising  
I don’t find it surprising if you don’t have the g's  
To please me and bounce from here to the coast of overseas  
So, let me give you something to think about  
Inundate your mind with intentions to turn you out  
Can't forget the focus on the picture in front of me  
You are as clear as dvd on digital TV screens  
Satisfy my appetite with something spectacular  
Check your vernacular  
Then I’ll get back to ya  
With diamond like precision  
Insatiable is what I envision  
Can detect acquisition  
From your friend's expedition  
Mister Big Willy, if you really want to know  
Ask Chilli could I be a silly hoe?  
Not really, T-Boz and all my senoritas  
Are steppin on your filas  
But you don’t hear me no. 

The room started to cheer when Brittany mimed a mic drop, and the girls finished up the song to cheers.

Kurt had to give it to them; their choreography was tight. They _looked_ like a girl group, and he had to admit he was impressed. Even Quinn seemed in her element, but then again, she always did when she actually connected to the song she was singing.

Of course, he could do without Puck wolf-whistling.

He elbowed his boyfriend, who laughed but stopped, pulling Kurt tight against his side.

The applause this time were real, and the girls bowed at the praise, Santana aiming hers towards Rachel and Blaine as if to say "what now?"

Blaine had on his plastic face, the one that said he wasn't impressed except that he was really kind of jealous but hiding it behind an obviously fake smile. Kurt hated that face. Rachel looked like she had a lot to say, too, and there was a lot less holding her back.

Except, of course, Mercedes standing. "Come on, Tina," she said. "If that's the way we're going, we're gonna bring it."

Mike followed them up, and started to sing with the bass beat. He still wasn’t as strong as Kurt, or even Finn, but he was on key and Kurt figured that the judges would be more focused on the way he was dancing.

_Yeah, yeah (Oooo)_  
Uh, hey hey  
All right, yeah  
Oooo 

“Yeah, here we go!” Mercedes said, and she and Tina picked up the chorus.

_What a man, what a man, what a man_  
What a mighty good man  
What a man, what a man, what a man  
What a mighty good man  
What a man, what a man, what a man  
What a mighty good man  
What a man, what a man, what a man  
What a mighty good man 

Mercedes took the first verse: 

_I wanna take a minute or two, and give much respect due_  
To the man that's made a difference in my world  
And although most men are ho's he flows on the down low  
Cuz I never heard about him with another girl  
But I don't sweat it because it's just pathetic  
To let it get me involved in that he said/she said crowd  
I know that ain't nobody perfect, I give props to those who deserve it  
And believe me y'all, he's worth it  
So here's to the future cuz we got through the past  
I finally found somebody that can make me laugh  
(Ha ha ha) You so crazy  
I think I wanna have your baby 

Kurt winced and he felt Puck tense for a second behind him. A quick look at Quinn showed that she was swaying along with the song, and Kurt frowned. Maybe Mercedes had warned her before hand? Or maybe Quinn was just better at suppressing. Maybe she was finally moving past it? Kurt wondered how Mercedes would react to him suggesting that she change the song, but judging by the way the rest of the room wasn’t reacting, she would say that he was overacting. Kurt sighed, and squeezed Puck’s hand as Tina took the next verse. 

___My man is smooth like Barry, and his voice got bass_  
A body like Arnold with a Denzel face  
He's smart like a doctor with a real good rep  
And when he comes home he's relaxed with Pep  
He always got a gift for me everytime I see him  
A lot of snot-nosed ex-flames couldn't be him  
He never ran a corny line once to me yet  
So I give him stuff that he'll never forget  
He keeps me on Cloud Nine just like the Temps  
He's not a fake wannabe tryin' to be a pimp  
He dresses like a dapper don, but even in jeans  
He's a God-sent original, the man of my dreams 

___Yes, my man says he loves me, never says he loves me not_  
Tryin' to rush me good and touch me in the right spot  
See other guys that I've had, they tried to play all that mac shit  
But every time they tried I said, "That's not it"  
But not this man, he's got the right potion  
Baby, rub it down and make it smooth like lotion  
Yeah, the ritual, highway to heaven  
From seven to seven he's got me open like Seven Eleven  
And yes, it's me that he's always choosin'  
With him I'm never losin', and he knows that my name is not Susan  
He always has heavy conversation for the mind  
Which means a lot to me cuz good men are hard to find 

Kurt found himself singing along as all the girls joined in on the chorus, sending a sly look to Puck. Puck looked smug, and joined in on the second go around, leaning in and gently knocking their foreheads together. 

Only Puck would turn this into a gentle romantic moment, and Kurt had to take a moment with just how lucky he felt at finding Puck. Maybe he’d send Uncle Bobby a fruit basket. The man would grumble and fuss, but he’d tear up at the sentiment and actually enjoy the fruit. He’d appreciate the irony, too. 

Mercedes picked up the final verse: 

___My man gives real loving that's why I call him Killer_  
He's not a wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am, he's a thriller  
He takes his time and does everything right  
Knocks me out with one shot for the rest of the night  
He's a real smooth brother, never in a rush  
And he gives me goose pimples with every single touch  
Spends quality time with his kids when he can  
Secure in his manhood cuz he's a real man  
A lover and a fighter and he'll knock a knucker out  
Don't take him for a sucker cuz that's not what he's about  
Every time I need him, he always got my back  
Never disrespectful cuz his mama taught him that 

Kurt whistled as the others cheered, the first to stand on his feet.

Schue clapped his hands for attention. "Excellent work, you guys! This is going to be a great concert." The bell rang, and he talked over the them as they grabbed their stuff. "I look forward to hearing the rest of you tomorrow! And don't forget to submit a song for the finale!"

Kurt snagged Puck before he headed off with the others for football practice. "I got an email back from Sam," he said. "They can all make it. They're going to swing by and pick up Bobby, and be here that Thursday night."

"Awesome!" Puck said. "Are they staying with you?"

Kurt winced. "I haven't actually asked my Dad, yet." He didn't think it would be a problem, but it might interfere too much with keeping Carole and Finn out of the loop.

"You want me there when you do?" Puck asked.

Kurt smiled; he knew Puck actually wanted nowhere near that conversation but appreciated that Puck would be there for him. "Thanks, but no. This is one best tackled alone."

Puck nodded. "If that changes..."

"I'll let you know." Kurt grinned, and pulled Puck in by his collar for a final kiss. It was deep, deeper than it had been all day, and Kurt felt heat flare in his belly. It hadn't been that long, only yesterday, but that was a whole day ago and Kurt could feel it.

"Fuck, I want you," Puck muttered into Kurt's mouth, and Kurt moaned. He wasn't the only one feeling it.

"I know, me too," he said. "Can you come by after practice?"

"Can and will," Puck said, and kissed Kurt again before pulling back. "Fuck, I don't want to get into a jock right now."

Kurt laughed, breathless. "That's a shame, because I really want to get into your jock right now."

Puck licked his lips, stepped forward like he was coming for more, but stopped himself. "I'm leaving. I'll come over later."

Kurt grinned. "All over."

Puck groaned. "Nobody'd believe me if I told them what a horrible tease you are."

"Not a tease if I follow through," Kurt teased. Puck just pointed at his own eyes with two fingers, then pointed them at Kurt. Kurt laughed, and Puck left. Now, Kurt just had to talk to Burt.

***

His dad was at the shop, and Kurt parked, walking the familiar route from the parking lot, listening to the whir of the machines. But was in the office, looking over the books, when Kurt knocked on the doorframe.

"Hey, kiddo," Burt said, putting down the papers he was holding. "What brings you by?"

"What?" Kurt asked. "Can't a son visit his father at work without wanting something?"

"Uh huh," Burt said. "Not with that answer. Spill."

Kurt sighed. "It's nothing bad. Remember that concert the glee club is putting on a few weeks?"

"The ones Carole and I have tickets for? Yes, I remember."

"Well, I invited Uncle Bobby and the Winchesters. They're coming, and I wanted to know if I can offer them the house."

Burt sighed and sat back. "That doesn't help keep Carole and Finn out of it."

"I know," Kurt said. "I already talked to Sam, and they said they'll be happy with a motel, but you know what the motels around here are like, and I don't like the idea of sending family to a motel when we have the room to spare."

Burt sighed and scratched his chin. "I'll need to talk to Carole about it. That's three grown men she's never met before staying in her house."

"Five."

Burt paused. "Five?"

Kurt nodded. "Bobby. Dean and his boyfriend. Sam and his boyfriend. Though, Gabe might be a woman for the time they're here, I'm not exactly sure how that works."

Burt blinked. "Dean has a boyfriend? Well, no. That makes sense. Sam's...what?"

"Sam's dating an angel. He has no gender, and sometimes shifts to a woman for ease," Kurt said.

"Angels," Burt said, and shook his head. "Wait—Gabe. Gabriel?"

Kurt just nodded and Burt let out a low whistle. "I still need to talk to Carole."

Kurt nodded. "I understand." He grinned. "Thanks, Dad."

"You're welcome, Kurt," Burt said. "Now get out of here and let me finish this."

Kurt leaned over and hugged Burt goodbye, and left, already thinking of when Puck got out of practice.

***

The next day, Kurt came to school prepared.

Slowly, he had been going through his closet, pulling out the clothes he wouldn’t wear again, either because they were season pieces whose season was long past or because they no longer fit his post-training physique. He lost more pants to his most recent growth spurt than he had realized. He didn’t try to do it all at once, working on a section at a time and making his outfits out of the pieces left behind.

Today, however, Kurt didn’t bother. Instead, he pulled out the jeans he wore over the summer, looser than any of his other pants (though still slim-fit) for maneuverability, and a black Metallica shirt that he had “liberated” from Puck’s closet. He pulled on his Doc Martens, tucking his jeans into the top, and grabbed an olive green button down to wear and an over-shirt.

Burt, who went in late on Fridays, was in the kitchen when Kurt came down stairs, and he did a double take. “Kurt?”

“Hi Dad,” Kurt smiled at him, and focused on pouring coffee into a travel mug.

“Interesting outfit you’ve got on, there,” Burt hedged, and Kurt frowned over his shoulder.

“We’re singing _Kansas_ in glee,” Kurt said, raising an eyebrow. “I’m in character.”

Finn stumbled into the kitchen, and stopped to look at Kurt as well. Kurt rolled his eyes. “I’m in costume,” he said, and they both nodded their heads in understanding. Kurt shook his head; some days he couldn’t wait until he moved away and everyone would stop judging him on what he did or didn’t wear.

Needless to say, the looks followed him all day, and by the time glee started, Kurt was ready for the day to be over.

Still, when Artie rolled in with Sam, and Sam went straight for his guitar, Kurt was more than willing to sit in the back with Puck and ignore everyone else to watch their performance.

Sam started:

_I see your dirty face_  
High behind your collar  
What is done in vain  
Truth is hard to swallow  
So you pray to God  
To justify the way you live a lie  
Live a lie  
Live a lie 

_And you take your time_  
And you do your crime  
Well you made your bed  
I'm in mine 

_Because when I arrive_  
I, I'll bring the fire  
Make you come alive  
I can take you higher  
What this is, forgot?  
I must now remind you  
Let It Rock  
Let It Rock  
Let It Rock 

_Now the son's disgraced_  
He, who knew his father  
When he cursed his name  
Turned, and chased the dollar  
But it broke his heart  
So he stuck his middle finger  
To the world  
To the world  
To the world 

_And you take your time_  
And you stand in line  
Well you'll get what's yours  
I got mine 

 

Artie rolled up, and started to rap:

_Yeah!_  
Wayne's world  
Planet Rock  
Panties drop  
And the tops  
And she gonna rock 'til the camera stop  
And I sing about angels like Angela (rock)  
And Pamela (rock)  
And Samantha (rock)  
And Amanda (rock)  
And Tamara (rock)  
 _"Manage a trois"_  
I'm in here like bitch what's up  
Mechanic, me, I can fix you up  
I can dick you up  
I can dick you down  
Shorty we can go wherever just pick a town  
And the jewelry is louder than an engine sound  
Big ass rocks like off the ground  
Dirty like socks that's on the ground  
Weezy 

They both joined in on the chorus this time:

_Just Let It Rock_  
Let It Rock  
Let It Rock  
Let It Rock...  
Let It Rock... 

And Artie took it again:

_I'm back like I forgot somethin_  
I'm somethin  
Ruling Rock rubbin' rap running'  
Miles like I'm trying to get a flat stomach  
Like Wayne the personal trainer  
My aim is perfect I'll bang ya  
Period, like the reminder 

Sam took the last bit, singing out like his heart depended on it.

_I wish I could be_  
As cruel as you  
And I wish I could say  
The things you do  
But I can't and I won't live a lie  
No, not this time. 

 

Kurt walked down the risers with measured steps, not letting the negative energy in the room affect him. Finn was already behind his drums, spinning back and forth in half circles as he spun his sticks, and Puck took the risers two at a time, his flannel shirt floating up behind him as he jumped. He shouldered his guitar, nodded at Kurt and Finn, and the band, and they started in harmony after a silent three.

_Carry on my wayward son_  
There'll be peace when you are done  
Lay your weary head to rest  
Don't you cry no more 

Finn and Puck started to play, and Kurt took the first verse.

_Once I rose above the noise and confusion_  
Just to get a glimpse beyond this illusion  
I was soaring ever higher  
But I flew too high 

They had decided earlier to split the second between them, and Finn took his line,

_Though my eyes could see I still was a blind man_

Then Kurt,

_Though my mind could think I still was a mad man_

And finally, Puck.  
 _I hear the voices when I'm dreaming  
I can hear them say _

They all came in on the chorus, and Kurt took special delight in watching the shock on Schue’s face. Show him not to put Kurt in a Broadway-shaped box.

Finn sang the next verse; it was a verse he always sang, even when it was Kurt’s turn on Rock Band. Kurt always wondered if there was more to that.

_Masquerading as a man with a reason_  
My charade is the event of the season  
And if I claim to be a wise man, well  
It surely means that I don't know 

Puck took the final verse before the musical bridge:

_On a stormy sea of moving emotion_  
Tossed about I'm like a ship on the ocean  
I set a course for winds of fortune  
But I hear the voices say 

Kurt stepped back as Puck played, watching and banging his head while Finn rocked out. His hair was bouncing, and it was distracting, but he could see the others start to copy his moves. Sam was all-out head banging, clearly loving the song. Santana was rolling her eyes in a way that meant she didn’t want to enjoy it but still did, and Brittany was bouncing excitedly in her seat. Even Rachel looked like she was having fun. It was only Blaine that still looked sour. Well, fuck him.

Kurt stepped up, and they sang the chorus, and Kurt took it, taking full advantage of his upper register in the last verse.

_No!_  
Carry on, you will always remember  
Carry on, nothing equals the splendor  
Now your life's no longer empty  
But surely heaven waits for you 

They ended on the chorus, with Kurt taking the final line and running with it, holding the high note as he sang, _(don't you cry no more)_.

When it was over, Kurt was flushed, elated with the thrill of the song, and the others must have felt it too, because they were on their feet.

Schue applauded, “That was amazing, you guys! Where has that been hiding?”

“In plain sight,” Kurt said.

“It’s been an interesting summer,” Puck said, and Kurt grinned.

“Well,” Schue said. “We still need to vote on a finale, so I want everyone to write down their suggestion and put it in the hat,” he gestured to the fedora that was upside down on the piano behind him, “but it looks like we have a setlist!”

The group cheered, and Kurt wrapped an arm around Puck’s waist as they waited for Schue to pass out the little slips of paper. Everyone would submit a song, then they would vote on the anonymous suggestions. Everyone was only allowed to vote once, and they would wheedle it down. Puck, Kurt, and Finn had discussed the issue beforehand, picking three songs that they would be happy with. 

Kurt lead the way back up the risers after putting his suggestion in the hat, and once they were seated, Schue started to pull out songs, writing each on the board.

“Okay, our first choice is… _America_ by Neil Diamond.” Kurt looked around, trying to figure out who chose which song. From the look on his face, this was Sam.

“Then… _Stronger_ by Kanye West.” Artie, no question.

“ _On the Floor_ by J.L featuring Pitbull.” Kurt raised his eyebrow at Mercedes. Really? Mercedes gave him a look back that clearly said, “Boy, if I thought this group could do Beyonce justice, you know I would.”

“ _Any Way You Want It_ by Journey,” Schue said, grinning. Clearly, he liked the choice, but judging by the groans and pieces of paper that pelted Finn, nobody else did. Whoops.

“Come on, guys,” Schue said. “Be nice.” He pulled the next piece. “ _You Shook Me All Night long_ by ACDC.” Next to Kurt, Puck smirked.

“Okay, then we have _Jump, Jive, & Wail_ by the Brian Stetzer Orchestra…and _Bohemian Like You_ by the Dandy Warhols.” Mike and Tina exchanged grins and cuddled closer.

Schue looked over the list, “I’m not sure all of these songs will translate well to choral arrangements,” he said, then shrugged. “But if it’s what you want we’ll make it work.” He pulled another piece of paper. “ _Bohemian Rhapsody_ by Queen, nice.” Kurt smiled and sat back in his seat.

“ _We Belong_ by Pat Benatar.” Kurt looked at Santana, and was surprised to see Quinn watching the board. Huh. He never would have pegged her for a Benatar fan.

“ _Give me Everything_ by Pittbull…I’m not sure the lyrics are completely appropriate,” Schue said, writing it on the board. Brittany opened her mouth, probably to defend her choice, but Santana covered her mouth and shook her head.

“ _Move Over,_ by the Spice Girls.” Kurt blinked at Santana. Really? The Spice Girls? Then again… it made a kind of sense. And Kurt wouldn’t mind dressing like Posh Spice if he really had to. The current Mrs. Beckham was a fashion icon.

“And finally, _Last Friday Night_ by Katy Perry.” Kurt rolled his eyes. Of course that was Blaine’s choice.

“Okay!” Schue said, clapping his hands. “We’ll do this anonymously by a show of hands. Everyone close your eyes.” Schue paused while everyone complied. “Now, raise your hand if you want _America_.”

One by one, they worked their way through the list. Kurt raised his hand for his selection, Puck’s, Finn’s, and Santana’s because he honestly wouldn’t mind singing that song. After Schue tallied the votes for _Last Friday Night,_ he said, “And it looks like…we have a tie!

“What?” Kurt said, opening his eyes. The tie was between _Bohemian Rhapsody_ , that God, and… _Last Friday Night._ Fuck.

“Okay, tie breaker round.” Schue said. “Raise your hand if you want Bohemian Rhapsody.” Kurt, Puck, Finn, Sam, Tina, and Santana all raised their hands. “And, _Last Friday Night_?” Mercedes, Rachel, Blaine, Mike, Artie, and Quinn all raised their hands. Brittany kept her hand down. “Brittany,” Schue said, “The last vote is yours. Which song would you rather do?”

“I invoke my right to abstain,” she said. “I refuse to vote on the grounds that it may incriminate me.”

“That’s not… okay,” Schue said. “Since the vote was tied, here’s what we’ll do. Group one will be those who voted for _Bohemian Rhapsody._ Group two has _Last Friday Night_ Each group will prepare and present next Friday where we will vote again.”

Kurt closed his eyes and let his head fall back. Another week. He sighed. _Here we go._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Pajama Game
> 
> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Bzv4jOTuwjw&feature=slpl


	10. The Mating Habits of Ogres: Dean

There were four of them for dinner, and Dean stared into the refrigerator looking for inspiration. He could make burgers, but burgers had a tendency to make Cas get really quiet when he was unsettled. There was always meatloaf, but Sam still wouldn’t eat meatloaf because sometimes Samantha had the food preferences of a five-year old.

Dean opened the crisper drawer. There was a long red pepper, just this side of fresh, and he pulled it out along with the jar of pickled jalapeños, setting the lot on the counter. He pulled ground beef and pork from the bottom shelf, putting them next to the pepper. He grabbed an onion and some garlic from the pantry. Finally, from the cupboards he pulled a can of red beans, Worcestershire sauce, chili powder, and cumin.

Looks like they were having Chili tonight.

He pulled out a cutting board and started to chop the onion and the pepper when Cas walked into the kitchen.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean said. “Chili for dinner.”

Cas nodded. “Yes, it is getting cooler out.”

Dean hung his head. “No,” he said, turning to look. “I mean—“ he stopped, seeing the glint in Cas’s eye. “You know exactly what I mean.”

“Yes, Dean,” Cas said.

“You’re a little shit, you know that?”

“So you keep telling me, Dean.”

Dean snorted, and finished chopping the pepper, scooping up the pieces and putting them in a bowl. He cut the top off of the onion, peeling off the papery skin, very aware that Cas was watching him.

“You got something you want to ask, or you just want to watch me work?”

Cas was silent for a moment. “I was simply contemplating the similarities between onions and humans, for no matter what that ogre said, humans are more like onions that ogres.”

“Ogre?” Dean asked. “When did you talk to an ogre?”

“I did not speak with him,” Cas said. “He was on television, speaking with a talking donkey.”

“Talking…You mean _Shrek_?”

“Yes,” Cas said, nodding.

Dean stared at Cas for a long moment, knife halfway through the onion, but he could not figure out if Cas was having him on. He shook his head. “The holes in your knowledge,” Dean said, turning back. He finished the onion and was scraping it into the bowl with the pepper when the thought occurred.

“Hey, Cas?” Dean asked. “Are ogres real?”

“No,” Cas said. “Well, not anymore. They went extinct around the same time as the dodo.”

“Huh,” Dean said. “What killed them?”

Cas shrugged. “They were a slow-multiplying species. Eventually, there were less of them born than that died and the race died off.”

“Slow-multiplying, huh?”

“Indeed,” Cas said. “Fast conception and reproduction has been an asset to the survival of the human race, something not all species share.” He paused. “Besides, would you want to fuck an ogre?” he sniffed as Dean barked out a laugh.

“Not even the ogres wanted to, huh?”

“They did, as a rule, prefer princesses.”

Dean chuckled. He added some olive oil to the bottom of the pot and turned on the heat, watching it for a moment before he opened the pack of beef and the pack of pork and dumped them both into the pot, stirring to break up the blocks and brown the meat thoroughly. Once brown, he added the pepper and the onion and tossed in half the jalapeños and stirred. Once the onions were clear, he added the spices, the can of beans and a few cups of water and brought the whole thing to a simmer. He covered the pot, lowered the heat, and sat at the table with Cas.

“So. What’s on your mind.”

Cas smiled, soft and small. “Lima, Ohio. You’ve been there before.”

“Sure,” Dean said. “Spent a good six months there in my senior year, just long enough for me to have some fun with the hottest girl in the school, and for Sam to put down some roots.”

“I have never been to Lima, Ohio,” Cas said. “Even when I was searching for God, trying to be everywhere at once, I never went to Lima, Ohio.”

Dean shrugged. “As I remember, there wasn’t much to recommend it.”

“No, that’s not what I mean,” Cas said. “I mean, I _tried_ to be everywhere, and I _never went to Lima, Ohio,_ ”

Dean sat back. “You think something there.”

“I know something is,” Cas said.

“Kurt and Puck live there with their families,” Dean said, leaning forward. “Are they safe?”

Cas nodded. “Yes, I think so. The place repels the supernatural, Dean. They aren’t in any danger from that angle.” He pause. “But I’m worried, Dean. A place like that isn’t natural. And we have no idea who, or what, might be taking advantage.”

“You think we should head over early?” Dean asked at length. Cas shrugged.

Sam walked in. “Man, that smells good,” he said, and cracked the lid to take a deep whiff. Turning, he saw their serious faces and stopped. “What’s wrong?”

“How soon can we go to Lima?” Dean asked.

Sam shrugged. “I just got a message from Kurt. Burt just approved our staying with him. I’m supposed to call and let him know. Why?”

“I have a hunch,” Cas said, and Dean watched as Sam slowly nodded. “I’ll call him now.”

“Thanks, Sam,” Dean said. “Oh, and uh…” Sam paused in the doorway. “Dinner’s in an hour.”


	11. The Winchesters Arrive: Puck

Puck wasn’t quite sure what Burt had told Carole about the Winchesters, but if she was like Finn, and she was, he might not have needed to tell her much at all. A simple, “My ex-brother-in-law and his sons are coming to stay with us for a few days to see Kurt, Puck, and Finn’s concert,” might have been it. Either way, Carole was in the kitchen cooking something that smelled like garlic and tomatoes and awesome, while Finn hovered in the doorway like he was begging for scraps (which he was), and Puck and Kurt waited and watched by the window.

Like always, Puck heard the Impala before he saw it, and he had sympathy for Bobby riding in the back with Cas the entire way. But, when the Impala pulled up, Bobby pulled up behind them in his pickup. Puck thought it odd until he noticed four people get out of the Impala. Looks like Gabriel decided to ride with the humans. Puck squinted, looking closer. Make that _Gabriella_.

“I’ll let my dad know they’re here,” Kurt said quietly to Puck. Puck nodded and Kurt backed away, calling for Burt.

Puck walked over to door and waited for a count of three. One. Two. Three, and he opened the door just as Dean raised his hand to push the doorbell.

Dean blinked, but grinned. “Puck!”

“Dean!” Puck said, letting go of the door as Dean pulled him into a brief, tight hug, letting go with a solid slap to his shoulder.

“I don’t know why I didn’t expect to find you here.”

Puck laughed, clapping his hand to Dean’s bicep for a moment, before turning to great Sam, who also pulled him into a hug—a looser hug that nonetheless conveyed great familiarity—Cas who gripped his forearm, and Bobby who shook his hand. Gabriel sauntered over with a wink, and bumped their hips together. “Heya handsome.”

“Trouble,” Puck said, but laughing. Gabe grinned around her lollipop, and slunk back to Sam’s side. Sam wrapped his arm tightly around her shoulders.

Puck stepped back, holding the door open and gestured the group inside just as Burt came into the front hall. “Well, I’ll be damned,” Burt said. “Look at you all. Bobby, you old sonofabitch.”

Bobby laughed, stepping forward to greet Burt, taking his hand and placing the other on his shoulder. Kurt appeared at Puck’s side. “It’s amazing,” he said quietly. “The greeting habits of the North American Heterosexual Male.” Puck bit his lip to keep from laughing, but his shoulders started to shake.

Cas noticed Kurt first. “Hello, Kurt,” he said in that odd grave way of his. As the others turned to greet him, Puck noticed Burt looking at Cas, his smile slipping a little bit. Puck wondered what Kurt had told Burt about Cas’s angelic past. The expression didn’t last very long as Carole entered with Finn and another round of introductions began.

“Thanks for putting up with us,” Bobby said. 

Carole waved the notion away. “Nonsense. From what Burt tells me, you’re family, and family will always have a place at the Hudson-Hummel house.”

“Thanks for that,” Dean said. Carole smiled at him, accepting the thanks.

“You all must be hungry. The boys can show you where you’ll be staying, and dinner will be ready in a few minutes.”

“You’re an angel,” Gabe said, and Puck saw Dean physically swallow back what he was going to say. “Do you need a hand with anything?”

“Oh, you’re guests, I couldn’t possibly ask.”

Gabe waved it away and walked forward, taking Carole’s arm. “Oh, I insist. Give us some girl time?”

Carole folded. “Well, alright. Finn, when you’re done helping them to their rooms, can you set the table?”

“Sure, Mom,” Finn said, and followed the rest of them out to the car.

There wasn’t much to carry; Hunters traveled light. When Dean popped the trunk, there was a pink bag that clearly belonged to “Gabriella”. Burt handed it to Finn, telling him to go put it in the guest room, then he could help his mother. Finn took the bag, and walked back inside, his size making the bag look more like an oversized purse than a duffel.

Once Finn was out of earshot, Burt turned to Bobby, all humor gone from his face. “What’s wrong?” He asked. “And don’t tell me nothing, because there is no need for all of you to come all this way days early if there wasn’t something more than my sons’ concert.”

“It’s the nothing that’s the problem,” Bobby said, gently. “Burt—you an’ Elizabeth were _hunters_ , you know what the world is like. The supernatural can’t hide from you. Since you moved to Lima, have you seen anything, and I mean anything, that would set off your radar?”

“No,” Burt said, shaking his head. “No, of course not, that’s why we moved to Lima.”

“It’s been over ten years, Burt,” Bobby said. “Going that long—it ain’t natural.”

Puck looked around. He and Kurt had noticed that lack of spook in Lima, but hadn’t thought there was anything especially _wrong_ with that. Yeah, it was boring, but it was also _safer_. Judging by the looks of the Winchesters, they should have.

“What you’re telling me, is that the ‘nothing is wrong’ is what’s wrong?”

Bobby sighed, closing his eyes briefly before leveling a look at Burt. “It is when not even angels can travel through here.” 

Burt raised his eyebrows, and jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “ _Gabriella_ over there doesn’t seem to have a problem.”

“She crossed city limits as a human.” 

Burt scowled. “You know that sounds like shit, Bobby.”

“That’s because it is shit,” Dean said. “But it also means that there’s _something_ at work here, something that’s stayed off the radar for a long-ass time.”

Burt looked away. “I don’t like this,” he said. “Don’t get me wrong. It’s great to see you again, but I don’t like you coming here, disturbing the peace of this place.”

“Lima isn’t peaceful,” Kurt said, quietly. Everyone turned to look at him. “It just regular old humans causing trouble.”

Burt sighed. “And that’s more true that I’d like it to be.” He looked up. “And so is what you’re saying. I knew it was too good to be true, but I didn’t want to believe it. After dinner, we’ll talk about it more. Right now, we better get inside or dinner will get cold and Carole will want to know why.” He paused. “And it is really good to see you, all of you. There isn’t much left of Elizabeth these days.”

Puck took Kurt’s hand and squeezed, trailing behind as they walked back into the house. Puck stopped Kurt at the doorstep, pulling him in for a quick kiss. Kurt took the comfort silently, leaning into Puck, and they entered the house together.

***

Dinner was interesting. Dean was in rare form, gently flirting with Carole and telling stories and bantering with Sam. He bickered playfully with Cas, and the combination of Dean’s exasperation and Cas’s extreme deadpan nearly made Puck choke on his food. Burt, Carole, and Bobby exchanged stories from their children’s youth, making Sam and Finn bright red as Carole and Bobby bonded over having a child who grew too tall too soon. Gabe told a few stories of his own, drawing inspiration from her past as a trickster in such a way as to paint her present persona as a prankster with a flair for sticking it to those who deserved it.

Carole hooted a few times, her good humor possibly helped along by the glass of rose she drank that never seemed to empty. Sam noticed what was going on when Carole nearly fell from her seat when Dean cracked a joke, and glared at Gabe. Gabe raised her eyebrows at him from over the rim of her own glass. Carole switched to water after that.

Puck, Kurt, and Finn were all drafted to clear the table, and they fell into a familiar routine. Puck and Finn carried things from the table into the kitchen, while Kurt filled the dishwasher. Personally, Puck didn’t think it was that difficult; it was simply a matter of geometric precision and getting the most use from a set space. Finn, on the other hand, tended to break more dishes than he got clean, and Kurt had taken over the job of loading the dishwasher out of preservation.

Carole—well, it wasn’t a stagger, but there was a certain weave to her walk—entered the kitchen just as they were finishing, and set up the coffee pot. A few minutes later, after the boys had returned to the table, Carole walked back in, the open door bringing the scent of fresh coffee, and held aloft a tin pan.

“Who wants pie?” She asked, and Dean turned to her like she had performed a miracle.

“Burt, I mean it when I say this and please don’t take this the wrong way, but I love your wife.”

Burt laughed, and Sam shook his head at Dean, looking so much like Puck’s little sister that Puck nearly choked on his soda. Looks like little siblings were universal.

“You are shameless,” Sam said, and Dean grinned. Next to him, Cas twitched, and narrowed his eyes at Dean. After a moment, Dean twitched, then wiggled his eyes in Cas’s direction.

Gabe leaned into Puck’s space to whisper, “Believe it or not, this is them toned down.”

Puck raised his eyebrows in return, whispering back, “What’re they like, normally?”

Gabe tilted her head, flipping a piece of hair over her shoulder. “Let me put it this way. If you visit, don’t eat off the counters.”

Puck’s mind flashed on an image of Dean and Cas in Bobby’s kitchen, Cas’s head thrown back, his hands hidden in Dean’s hair, as Dean blocked most of Cas’s body from view. It wasn’t quite enough to keep Puck from seeing Cas’s pants stuck around one foot, but it was enough to get Puck backing from the room much faster than he had entered. 

“Ah,” he said. Gabe smirked at him, like he knew what Puck was thinking, and knowing Gabe, he did. Puck pointed a finger at Gabe. “No,” he said. “Just no.”

Gabe laughed, a clear joyous sound that seemed to light up the room. Carole walked in with the pie at that moment, and Puck couldn’t remember the last time he felt so content.

After dinner, Sam stood when Carole did and urged her back into her seat. “No, it’s okay,” he said. “You went through all this trouble, the least we can do is clean up.” He kicked out his foot, and Dean shot to his feat.

“Definitely,” he said. “We’ve got this.”

“If you’re sure,” Carole said, hesitating. Burt stood.

“I’ll make sure they don’t break anything,” he said, winking and kissing her cheek. He grabbed his own plate, and hers, and followed the Winchesters into the kitchen.

Once they were gone, Cas leaned forward. “You have a lovely home, Carole,” he said. “It’s been blessed.”

That made Kurt’s head come up sharply. Puck looked at Gabe, and Gabe was looking back steadily. Puck raised an eyebrow. _Does he mean what I think he means?_ Gabe didn’t nod, but there was a sad knowledge in her eyes that confirmed it for Puck. He closed his eyes.

“Thank you,” Carole said, surprised but not upset and still more tipsy than not. “I like to think so.”

Sam and Dean came back into the room, their bickering breaking the weird tension. The table was cleared quickly, and Carole retired soon after due to an early shift at the hospital in the morning. Finn had no reason to go anywhere, however, and after a long moment, Burt sighed.

“Finn, if we ask you to, can you keep what happens next from your mother?”

Finn looked up from where he had been fiddling with his phone. “Well, sure, I think. I mean, it’s nothing that’s going to hurt her, right?”

“Right,” Burt said.

Finn shrugged. “Then sure. I mean, it wouldn’t be the first time, but I didn’t say that, because it’s nothing you need to worry about, either.”

Burt cocked his head, and Kurt turned his head to hide his grin. Dean had no compunctions, and was grinning at Finn like a proud older brother.

“We’ll be coming back to that,” Burt said slowly, “but this takes precedence.” He stopped, looking a bit unsure, and Puck realized that he had no idea where to begin. Puck stood, clapping a hand on Finn’s shoulder.

“Kurt and I can fill Finn in,” he said.

Burt looked relieved. “That’d be good. Thanks, kid.”

Puck shrugged. “No problem.” He looked at Gabe, who winked at him. Good, Gabe would fill them in on what they missed. Kurt raised an eyebrow at Puck when he tried to usher him and Finn out of the room, but he went with no real resistance. Puck led them out into the backyard, stopping just long enough to pinch a half-empty bottle of wine from the table. Finn might need something. Puck knew he did.

Finn was shifting from foot to foot, looking between Puck and Kurt. He saw the bottle in Puck’s hand, and looked confused. “What’s going on?” he asked.

Kurt sighed. “Sit down, Finn.” Finn sat sideways on one of the lawn loungers, balancing for a moment to make sure he wouldn’t tip it over. Puck drank from the bottle, passed it to Kurt, and grabbed two lawn chairs. He placed one behind Kurt as Kurt was wiping his mouth clean of red wine, and sat in the other while Kurt passed the bottle to Finn. Finn held it, not drinking yet, and said;

“Guys?”

“Sorry, Finn,” Kurt said. “It’s just a little hard to explain this to someone coming in cold. I mean, most people I know either know, or figured it out themselves, or—,”

“You remember my Carver Edlund books?” Puck interrupted. Kurt shot him a wry look, and Puck squeezed his hand in apology, but didn’t look away from Finn.

“The one with the romance cover brothers?” Finn asked, eyebrows furrowing.

Kurt choked gently next to him, and Puck grinned. “Yeah, those. They’re fucking real, dude. Sam and Dean? Are Sam and Dean _Winchester_.”

Finn blinked. “But that’s their names,” Finn said, jerking his chin towards the house.

Puck nodded. “Yep, it is.”

Finn shook his head. “But then—but—” Finn’s eyes widened. “There are monster hunters in my house?”

Kurt nodded and Puck added, “This past summer? We were training with them. We’re hunters, too.” 

Finn looked down at the bottle again, raised it up and drank deeply. A thin trail of wine escaped from the side of his mouth, and he stopped, wiping with the heel of his palm. Suddenly, he grinned. “Cool,” he said.

“Oh, God,” Kurt muttered, but Puck laughed because he had had the same reaction—for a pair of boys who grew up playing Jedi and Justice League, learning that monster hunters existed was like learning they really could grow up to be Han Solo.

“I mean it!” Finn protested.

“It’s not fun and games,” Kurt snapped. “I mean, yes, parts of it are pretty awesome, but there’s also the abject terror, and the constantly fighting for your life, and the knowledge that you’re the _only one_ who can do anything which means you have no one to turn to.

“No one except other hunters,” Puck said, quietly. _Like your partner,_ he thought.

Kurt turned, as if he had heard, and softened, reaching out a hand to take Puck’s. “That’s true,” he said. “You have your partner’s back, and they have yours, and occasionally, if you’re lucky, you build a team of allies who will come when you call.” He turned back to Finn. “But those teams shift more than the _Avengers_ line-up. People die doing this, Finn. It’s not a game. It’s a war.”

Finn looked at Kurt, and Puck saw the calculation in his face. It wasn’t a look that many people thought Finn could have; honestly, Finn usually kept that face hidden behind a helmet, but on the few occasions he did let others see it, it never failed to remind Puck of just how perceptive Finn could be.

“You can’t stand there and tell me you don’t enjoy it,” Finn said softly. “You’re a fighter, Kurt.”

Kurt held Finn’s eyes, and didn’t deny it. “It’s not a game,” he said.

“Doesn’t mean you can’t find it fun,” Finn said.

Puck could see the tension rising in Kurt, and stepped forward to break through it, but Kurt held up his hand and Puck stopped.

“ _Satisfying?_ yes. _Cathartic?_ yes. But _fun?_ ” He shook his head. “Never on an actual hunt. Never fighting for my life.” Kurt crossed his arms over his chest.

Puck remembered the sharp fear, the reek of Leviathan, the adrenaline. He remembered the hysterical laughter when they realized they were going to live, the frantic way they tore at each other’s clothes to prove that they _had_. No, Kurt was right. _Fun_ wasn’t the word for it. Necessary, maybe.

Puck put his arm around Kurt’s shoulder, and felt Kurt lean into him though he stayed tense. “Training can be fun,” Puck compromised. “In a running-suicides-at-practice sort of way.”

Finn nodded. “I can see that,” he said, willing to take the out. “So this is what Burt doesn’t want Mom to see? That monsters are real?”

“Dad’s done a lot to keep you and Carole from finding out,” Kurt said. “It was a monster that killed mom, and—” Kurt paused to swallow when his voice cracked. “And Dad doesn’t want that to happen again. If you don’t know, you can’t hunt. If you can’t hunt, you can’t be killed that way.” Kurt shrugged. “It’s not true; civilians get killed all the time without ever really knowing what did it, but there isn’t a Hunter alive that isn’t superstitious in some way.”

“Besides,” Puck added. “There isn’t anything in Lima, anyway.”

Finn frowned. “If there’s nothing in Lima, then why did everybody look so worried?”

“Because there’s nothing in Lima,” Kurt said. “Bobby thinks that kind of vacuum is deliberate, caused by something supernatural to protect itself while giving it free reign.”

Finn paled. “Like vampires?”

Kurt shook his head. “No, vampires couldn’t do this; There’d be bodies.” he answered seriously and Finn paled further. _Shit!_ How could he have forgotten? He teased Finn about being afraid of the cheesy late night horror movie host for years, what’s-his-name with the fake accent and faker fangs.

Puck reached out and grabbed Finn’s shoulder, as if that would be enough to keep him from swaying. Finn listed and Puck staggered until Kurt joined him, quickly apologizing. “I’m so, so sorry,” he said. “I forgot, but it’s okay. No vampires in Lima, I promise.”

“Because of the thing,” Finn said.

“Yes, because of the thing,” Kurt said.

“The thing that the Hunters are here about.”

“Yes,” Kurt nodded, “The thing that—” He stopped, and Puck knew Kurt thought of it the same time he did.

“The thing they’re here to stop,” Puck said, meeting Kurt’s eyes. It was suddenly _very_ important that they knew what was going on inside that living room. Puck and Kurt turned, Finn standing behind them and leaving the rest of the wine. Puck turned at the door to face Finn and hold a finger to his lips. Finn nodded, and the three crept back into the house, moving slowly until the low murmur of voices were loud enough to be clear.


	12. The Meeting: Sam

“So,” Bobby said. “I think the biggest question is what has the power and ability to keep this place supernatural free, and free of anything that might tip off a Hunter, for as long as it has. It’s going on twenty years, right Burt?”

Burt inhaled sharply, caught off guard, and looked at Bobby. “Right,” he said. “Twenty years, give or take.”

“Let’s run down the usual suspects,” Dean said. “We ran into something like this before, the town with the fugly-ass scarecrow.”

“Pagan gods would certainly have the power,” Gabriel added. At some point he had shifted back into his male form, and while it made Burt double-take, it filled Sam with a warm relief. Gabriella was pretty, but she was like a vacation; fun to visit and made you appreciate home so much more.

Sam paused. _When did Gabriel become home?_

It didn’t matter, now he had it, but the thought still took him by surprise. If Gabriel heard the stray thought, he gave no sign.

Burt shook his head. “No sacrifices,” he said. “Or, at least, if there have been, they’ve been covered up.”

Sam sat back in his chair, all the ways they’d run across to hide a string of bodies running through his mind. It was easy to hide, if you knew how, and if you were as old/powerful/sneaky as a modern pagan god, you’d definitely know how. The only reason they’d found the last one is because the people involved slipped up. If the same thing was happening here, there was no guarantee of the same.

Sam sighed. Gabriel lifted his arm over Sam’s shoulders, cupping his hand around Sam’s neck and squeezing gently. Sam relaxed into the touch, dropping his head.

Of course, last time they didn’t have Gabriel— _Loki_ —in their corner. Maybe he could sniff out the right culprit.

“You know the sacrifice doesn’t have to be death, right?” Gabriel said. His voice seemed to vibrate down his arm and into Sam and Sam nearly purred until what Gabriel said registered.

“Like what?” he asked, eyes snapping open.

Gabriel shrugged, thumb moving in slow circles on Sam’s neck. “Food. Sex. Things that are important to the sacrificer. It varies depending on pantheon.”

“So we could be dealing with a god that gets tribute through sex?” Dean asked, a note in his voice that Sam knew meant he was both intrigued and impressed.

“Life is not porn, Dean,” Sam said, and sneered when Dean mouthed the words along with him.

“Actually, that kind of sacrifice usually is,” Gabriel grinned, the edges of his smile sharp. “My personal favorite.”

The words, his tone, that grin—Sam felt a shiver of want run up his spine and Gabriel switched to scratching lightly along the tendon in Sam’s neck. Sam swallowed. _Fuck._

Out of the corner of his eye, Sam saw Dean shift uncomfortably, but he kept his tongue. Dean had no room to criticize if Sam decided to shack up with an angel, but Dean was always good at reading Sam even if he didn’t want to. Dean had to have noticed Sam’s recent funk, and attributed it—correctly—to Gabriel.

Still, it was none of Dean’s business, and Sam tried to communicate that through his eyebrows. Dean gave him a look that Sam could read clearly: “Now? You bring this up now?” Sam pursed his lips, and Dean rolled his eyes, but nodded.

“We can’t even begin to trace that,” Bobby said.

“We can stake out the motels,” Dean said. “If this god needs lovin’ for his juju, then a rent by the hour motel is the perfect place.”

“There are several things wrong with that sentence,” Sam said.

“She will be there,” Cas said. That caught everyone’s attention, but Cas didn’t say anything more. 

Burt’s eyes were wide, disbelieving, but Bobby was nodding. He slapped Burt on the shoulder.

“Don’t question the angel mojo,” he said. “Just be glad we have a clue. Goodness knows these idjits operate without one often enough.”

“Hey!” Sam and Dean protested. 

Gabriel snickered. Smug bastard.

Burt sighed. “I can’t go with you,” he said. “When I said I was retired, I meant it.”

“We understand,” Dean said, and Sam nodded. “Just give us directions, and we’ll take care of it.”

“How about a guide?” Kurt asked from the doorway behind them, and Sam turned to look. He stood just inside the room, feet braced and arms crossed. Puck was a steady presence at his side, and Finn stood tall behind them, backing them. It was a strong image, and Sam felt a moment of pride for how much Kurt and Puck had grown. 

Burt didn’t look nearly as proud. In fact, he looked more scared than anything. “Kurt—”

“Dad,” Kurt said. “You can’t get involved. You said it yourself. But if we’re dealing with a pagan god connected to a specific area, it would make sense to bring someone from the area when you go to bargain.” He turned to Bobby. “You need a Lima native, and that’s exactly what I am.”

“Me, too,” Puck said.

“I don’t like it,” Burt said. Then he sighed, stood, and walked over to Kurt, reaching out to hold Kurt’s shoulders. “But you’re old enough now to make your own decisions. If you need to do this, do this. But please—come home.”

“I will,” Kurt said, quiet, and pulled his dad into a hug. They were of a height, father and son both grown, and Sam had to look away. By the time he had reached his own father’s height, they had moved past the desire to hug.

“Well,” Gabriel said, clapping his hands. “Looks like we have a plan!”


	13. The Motel Goddess: Kurt

If Lima was a depressing hole of broken dreams and death to culture, then the Sleep-Ur-Way motel at city limits near the highway was the epicenter. Kurt had never actually been there before, but everyone knew the stories. It was the place to go to find someone paid by the hour to take you into one of the dirty rooms for however long your wallet could afford.

Kurt was in the backseat of the Impala, squished in the middle between Puck and Cas, with Sam in the passenger seat and Dean driving like the road had offended him in some obscure way,, his mood worsening as he drove for no reason that Kurt could determine. Bobby followed behind them in his truck because he refused to sit in the back of the Impala with them, and Dean refused to leave his Baby behind.

True to his word, Burt had stayed behind, and when they had filed out to the car, he had clapped Finn on the shoulder and told him to meet him in the kitchen so Burt could fill in more of the gaps. Gabe also said he’d stay behind, but with an ear to the ground in case he was needed. “You don’t want to roll out the big guns unless you have to,” he had said. “You don’t want to spook her into attacking before you can talk.”

Dean played his music loudly enough that Kurt had to shout his directions, and when Dean parked and shut off the engine, the sudden silence was just as loud, ringing in Kurt’s ears.

“The fuck crawled up your butt and died?” Sam asked, twisting in his seat to face Dean. Headlights shined through the back window, illuminating the interior of the car past the pulsating pink and blue of the motel’s sign. Puck put his finger to his ear and shook, trying to get rid of the ringing, and Kurt dropped his jaw to try and pop his ears. It looked like whatever _had_ crawled up Dean’s butt would keep them in the car a little longer.

“I don’t like it,” Dean grumbled.

“Like what?” Puck asked with a snort. “You’ve stayed in worse places than this.” Dean didn’t answer but Sam rolled his eyes.

“Having backup is not a bad thing, Dean,” Sam said. Dean grunted. “You have Cas and Gabe now, too.”

“Look, I’m not saying that reliable backup is bad, I’m saying it feels like overkill.”

Kurt pushed his head into the front seat. “You told me, last time you went against a pagan god, you would have liked backup because it turned into a psycho killer Paris Hilton.”

Dean stewed for a moment. “We’ve never had the backup we’ve needed before,” he said, low. “What if it’s a jinx.”

“It’s possible,” Cas said, looking out the window. 

“Not helping, Cas,” Dean said.

Cas paused. “It is a possibility,” he said quietly. “But unlikely.”

There was a tap at Dean’s window, and when he rolled it down, Bobby leaned in. “You idjits are never gonna find her if you don’t get out of this car.”

“That’s another thing,” Dean said. “How are we going to find her?”

“Well,” Bobby scratched his beard. “I thought we’d—”

Cas pointed out of Sam’s window. “There she is.”

Kurt looked. A woman walked around the far corner from the back of the building. She was barely dressed in a red mini skirt that had the distinct sheen of vinyl as she passed under the lights, a bikini top in a matching red, and a bolero style black jacket. Her gait was steady, even in her six-inch platform heels, and Kurt had to give her credit. Walking in those things was not easy.

Her hair was red too, a brighter orange that clashed with the skirt and tumbled in curls like Merida. She was pale, and there was something about her face that made Kurt think she was older than she looked.

“Really?” Is what Kurt said. “She looks like an extra from _Pretty Woman_.”

“I love that movie,” Bobby said. Everything turned to look at him. “What?” he said. “Julia Roberts is a gift.”

“How are we going to do this?” Sam asked.

“Stay here,” Dean said, opening the door and making Bobby step back. “And come when I need you.” He shut the door behind him, as hard as he could without slamming it, which was a good sign in Kurt’s opinion. It meant Bad Things if Dean was mean to his Baby.

As they watched, Dean walk down the path, gait lengthening until he was strutting. He stopped in front of the woman and leaned against the side of the building. The woman smiled at him, slow, and gestured for him to follow her. She turned, and Dean cast a look over his shoulder before following her into one of the rooms.

Sam climbed out of the car, holding the seat for the others to climb from the back. He walked around and opened the trunk, handing a holly steak to Puck and a sawed-off shotgun to Kurt. Bobby had his own steak, and when Sam reached for his crossbow, Cas stopped his arm.

“Sam and I will stay here and watch the door.” He said. Sam looked at Cas for a long moment, and nodded.

“Come if you hear hollerin’,” Bobby said, and led Kurt and Puck over to the door.

Bobby pressed his ear to the door. Puck wiped his palm on his jeans and adjusted his grip on the stake. Kurt checked that the shotgun was loaded and ready. At last, Bobby stepped back, nodded, and kicked the door in.

Kurt and Puck followed him in quickly, Puck brandishing his stake and Kurt bringing the gun to bear.

Dean was standing at the foot of the bed, gun trained on the woman. She was lying on the bed, legs splayed in invitation, vinyl hitched up her thighs. Kurt kept his eyes on her face, which had twisted with resignation.

“More’ll cost you extra,” she said, and Kurt shivered. Her voice was rich, like dark, damp earth, and he cocked his gun.

“Cut the crap,” Dean said. “We want answers.”

She sighed, closing her eyes for a moment, then stood, pulling her skirt down. She frowned at them when they blocked her way.

“You want to talk, fine,” she said. “But I’m going to need a cigarette and this is a non-smoking room. There’s a park across the street. We can talk there.”

After a moment of stillness, Kurt was the first to move aside, Puck following his lead. Bobby was next. Dean didn’t move until Bobby put a hand on his arm, but even he stepped aside at last and followed her out the door.

Once outside, Kurt gestured to the truck. Sam and Cas looked confused—well, Sam looked confused and Cas looked like he always did, but there was something about the air around Cas that seemed confused. They caught up easily, and Kurt heard Puck explaining where they were going in low tones.

Sure enough, there was a small park, empty at this time of night. Kurt frowned as he looked around him. He could understand the place being empty during the day; nobody came here. But it was still warm out, and he was surprised to see nobody sleeping rough. Even the park in Sioux Falls had a bum or two on the benches at night. It was most likely a side effect of proximity to the motel, but Kurt couldn’t help but be reminded of dogs who flee before an earthquake.

The pagan goddess sat at a sorry looking picnic table, the one closest to the light post, but it was still dark enough to make vision suspect. She pulled a cigarette out of a half-empty pack she dug from her purse, and lit it with a touch of her finger. She looked up. Seeing them staring, she said wryly, “Neat party trick, huh?”

“Ma’am,” Bobby said, sitting across from her. The goddess waved the hand that held her cigarette, the smoke winding like a snake in it’s path.

“You’re real sweet to show me respect, but you can call me Sheila,” she said.

“Sheila,” Dean said, flat.

“And why not?” She asked, half-turning on the seat and taking a drag. She blew the smoke in Dean’s direction. “It’s my name. Or, close enough for government work.” Sheila leaned in as she spoke, as if sharing a secret, then leaned back, braced against the tabletop. She was straddling the bench in a position that, with anyone else, would have been an invitation.

For Sheila, it was a display of power, and no matter how much Kurt could see (and wished he couldn’t), changed that.

Next to him, Puck was transfixed, with an expression on his face that was half-terrified, half-ecstatic in the religious rapture sense of the word. Kurt resisted the urge to roll his eyes; of course Puck would be attracted to the blatantly sexual goddess. He elbowed his boyfriend harshly in the side, and Puck came back to himself with a wince.

Kurt looked back to see Sheila watching him. “You aren’t even the least bit interested, are you?” She asked.

“Sorry, Sheila. You’re just not my type.”

Sheila laughed. “Oh, I like you.” Her eyes flickered for a moment, “Teenagers are such wonderful things. Sex is all they think about, and it pleases me to see them rebel against the strictures of this time.”

“I’m happy for you,” Bobby said. “But we’re not here to talk about them. We’re here to talk about you.”

“All this attention can go to a girl’s head,” Sheila said, coy, and lit another cigarette off of the end of her first one.

“We need to know why you’re here,” Sam said.

Sheila shrugged. “I live here.”

“But you didn’t always,” Gabriel said, appearing cross-legged on the tabletop between Sheila and Bobby. He winked at Kurt, and Kurt saw a brief flash of Gabriel split in two, one still with Burt at the house. He blinked, and the image faded. He popped a red lollipop into his mouth and twisted the stem between his fingers.

“Trickster,” Sheila said, delighted. “I didn’t recognize you before! You’re wearing your grace close to the surface these days.”

Gabriel smiled around his stick. “I never knew how you figured that out, you know.” 

Sheila’s smile calmed, turned bittersweet. “I am old, Mighty One. Older than memory allows.”

“Wait,” Dean said. “You know her?”

“We met when I first got the Loki gig,” Gabriel said. “Everyone, this is Sheela Na Gig.”

Sheila nodded her head, graceful like a queen, but Dean summed up everyone’s thoughts.

“Who?” he said.

Kurt tensed, but Sheila didn’t seem to take offense.

“Yes,” she said with a small, bitter laugh. “That seems to be the issue here. No mortal of this time knows me past a few stones carved in my likeness. My followers have passed beyond time.” She paused, weary. “I don’t even remember everything. The consequences of a goddess without worshipers, I suppose.”

“And, you’re _here?_ ” Puck asked, raising an eyebrow, and gesturing to the park, the road, the motel. Lima.

Sheila shrugged. “I get what I need here. I set my own hours. The land is safe and everyone is happy.”

“No offense,” Bobby said. “But the last time we met a deity on the outs, they were a little less blasé and a little more bloodthirsty.”

Sheila leveled him with a flat look, but there was no malice behind it. “Make love, not war, Robert.” Bobby raised an eyebrow, and Sheila went on. “Either way, I’m pretty sure that it was my own desperate bid to keep my place that ended my reign. I’m not looking for a repeat of that, only peace.”

Bobby held her gaze for a long moment. Finally, he nodded. “I can respect that,” he said, and stood. “Thank you for your time.”

“No problem,” Sheila said, standing. “It’s nice to know that somebody out there knows the truth, anyway.” She turned to head back to the hotel and paused, looking back at Bobby. “Are you sure I couldn’t entice you to join me for a while?”

Bobby shook his head. “I ain’t been to church in years, and I’m not about to start now.”

Sheila shrugged. “Suit yourself,” she said, and walked back across the road, hips swinging in time with her steps.

 

Finn was hovering by the front window when they returned home, and by the time Kurt had climbed from the car, all that was left in Finn’s place was a swinging curtain. The door opened when they were still on the front path, spilling light from the hallway around Finn.

“You guys are all right,” he said, relieved. “I mean, I thought you would be, but then Burt was telling me stories and I got worried.” He stepped forward, and Kurt hugged him, wrapping his arms around Finn’s waist. He felt Puck press up against his back, and Finn’s arms wrapped around the two of them.

“We’re fine, Finn,” Kurt said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If any of you see a resemblance between Sheila and a certain sex goddess from _American Gods_ , then congratulations! I don't _think_ I borrowed her, flat out, but she was certainly inspired by that lovely, striking scene.


	14. Visiting: Dean

Dean was tired of waiting for the other shoe to drop.

They never investigated something to have it turn out to be supernatural _and_ benevolent; not and have it still stick around. Not even _angels_ …

There was something else here, there had to be. 

And yet, as the week went on, Dean watched the others relax one by one. Puck was first, not hardened by the life Dean and Sam had lead. Kurt was next, though when Dean looked closer he saw the ways in which Kurt _never_ relaxed, always on guard; not all monsters were the gankable kind.

Burt was next, falling back into the rhythm of his life. 

Gabriel was never tense in the first place, though Dean did notice he was hanging around Sam more that he had been recently. Good. Hopefully whatever they’d been fighting about had been resolved. Either way, Gabriel’s presence seemed to calm Sam and he out of high alert for the first time in far too long.

Cas still had his night terrors. Dean had spent the first night there mostly awake, sleeping feather-light in brief naps so he could wake Cas before Cas woke the house. Every time, Cas looked at Dean with hollow eyes, unknowing of what was haunting him. It wasn’t getting better, but it wasn’t getting worse, and Dean couldn’t do anything but watch. And wait. And hope that he was wrong about that other shoe.

It wasn’t all tense, however. The day after the night at the motel, Puck came home from school with Kurt and Finn, carrying his guitar. Turned out that Finn played the drums—had a set in the basement—and that night after dinner, Kurt invited them down to jam.

To be honest, Dean was expecting something on the bluesy side. That’s generally what Puck had stuck to over the summer, songs that sounded good with a single guitar and a soulful singer. So, he was surprised when Puck pulled out an electric guitar and played the first heavy chords of _Back in Black_ , Finn joining in with the drums. By the time Kurt began to sing, Dean realize he was grinning and gave in, stamping his foot, clapping his hands, and banging his head.

When Kurt hit the chorus the lights changed, shifting in a blink from basement yellow to concert laser, and Dean found himself front row in a “concert,” Cas pressed close to him and Sam behind with Gabriella sitting on his shoulders, throwing up the devil horns.

And archangel throwing horns. What was his life.

Cas bumped Dean, his arm creeping around Dean’s waist to curl his fingers into the waistband of Dean’s jeans, and Dean decided that he could let it be for a song. 

The song ended on a strong beat, and as if it was the cue, they were once again in the Hudson-Hummel basement. Kurt and Puck were laughing, and Finn sprang up from his drums, arms raised in victory.

“That was awesome!” he crowed. He dropped back down to his bench, twirling his sticks in his hands. “I saw lasers!”

“You’re welcome,” Gabriel said. He stepped forward, coming around an electric keyboard that sat in the corner. “My turn.” He raised his hand and snapped his fingers with a flourish and the keyboard began to play itself, running scales up until the bass kicked in with the soul of 70s psychogenic rock.

“Oh, he isn’t,” Sam muttered next to Dean, but he was smiling despite himself because _Inna Godda Da Vida,_ and when Gabriel had danced his way from behind the keyboard he spun to face them and—

Dean felt like he was in a lava lamp. The colors swirled gold and red, and when he looked he was wearing bell-bottoms. The fuck? He looked up.

They all looked like they had stepped out of a bad 70’s acid trip, especially Gabriel, whose long hair was now even longer, though he seemed right at home in the deep-necked, wide-collar shirt.

Dean turned to Sam and smirked. “At least now your hair makes sense,” he said. Sam rolled his eyes, but didn’t respond. He was too busy _grooving_ to the music.

Seriously, though, the music was starting to put ideas into Dean’s head. This song had been a staple on his “gettin’ lucky” mixtape since forever. That and Zepplin’s “Kashmir.”

Cas swayed past in low-slung denim and a leather fringe vest and Dean reached out to grab him. If he was going to be stuck in the lava lamp, then he was going to enjoy the lava lamp.

And if when it was Dean’s turn he picked “Kashmir,” and found himself alone with Cas while the baseline thumped through his chest, well, this _was_ supposed to be a vacation.

Maybe he’d get Gabriel a candied fruit basket.

 

It helped, but Cas woke in the middle of the night screaming with no voice, and Dean was up, rubbing his back and easing him back to sleep and the worry wormed it’s way back in.

 

Dean thought things were coming to a head when Kurt burst through the doors on Friday, head held high in defiant anger. Puck and Finn followed him, both equally pissed, and Dean watched them storm into the kitchen with raised eyebrows.

Dean looked over at Sam who looked back with a matching expression. Cas merely shrugged at him. Gabriel was watching the kitchen with a look like he was planning some just desert, and Dean stood. What the hell was going on?


	15. Dress Rehearsal: Puck

Puck closed his locker, turned around, and leaned against the metal, letting the stream of students pass by. At the end of the hall, a group of jocks in their varsity jackets stood in a circle, laughing. Even a few weeks ago, it was a sight that would have sparked worry and fear into any student not at the top of the social ladder. Now, between the work of the Bully Whips last year and the continued enforcement of the anti-bullying policies spearheaded by Sylvester this year, that ring of jocks no longer held the threat of violence.

It was amazing how quickly the atmosphere of a school could change.

Puck felt the body next to him before he heard the dull thud of it leaning against the locker, and he smirked. Kurt: the face of the _other_ change in the school atmosphere. The GSA was a success; the jocks forced into attendance (the ones who chose to go instead of quitting the team, which was most of them) showed a surprising amount of sensitivity once they were pulled away from the groupthink of the team—Azimio most of all. For the first time in a year Azimio and Karofsky were thick as they once were; Puck wondered if Karofsky had finally told Azimio.

"Thinking hard?" Kurt asked lightly. Puck's smile grew.

"Can't you see the smoke," Puck teased, still watching the hall.

"Hmm," Kurt hummed, pressing in close and nuzzling Puck's ear. Puck shivered, biting his lip. "No smoke here," Kurt murmured.

"Maybe you should look again."

"Maybe I should," Kurt said, wrapping an arm around Puck and pressing a kiss to his jaw.

This here was the greatest indicator of how the hallways had changed. Puck and Kurt could hold hands, be _obviously_ intimate, and not have to worry about slushies, or being pushed into lockers, or jumped in the parking lot.

Puck and Kurt could fuck up anybody who tried, but that was besides the point. Puck would rather Kurt jump him any day, and their fucking was a lot more fun.

"Get some, Hummel," Santana called out as she walked by, ponytail swinging in time with Brittany's. Brittany waved over her shoulder, grinning at them.

“Oh, I intend to,” Kurt said, and Puck grinned at the thrill that sent through him. Puck turned to kiss Kurt, and saw Blaine out of the corner of his eye. The look on Blaine’s face was ugly, like he had just smelled dog shit, and Puck felt a familiar fury light low in his belly.

How _dare_ that fucknugget think he could pass judgment on them?

“Come on,” Kurt said, tugging on Puck’s arm. One look and Puck knew Kurt had seen it too. “He’s not worth it. Let’s just get to class.”

“Fine,” Puck said, but he wasn’t happy. It soured his mood for the rest of the day.

 

Therefore, it was a grumpy Puck that walked into the choir room for the last sing-off. He threw his backpack onto a chair and grabbed his guitar. Sitting on a stool, he picked at the strings, not playing anything in particular. He pushed his comfort zone, looking for note changed that stretched his hands and his ability. Slowly, the ugly knot of tension that had settled between his shoulders started to ease.

Kurt pulled over a stool of his own, and watched as Puck played. Finn walked in and waved at them. He put his own bag next to Puck’s and grabbed his drumsticks, twirling them as he walked over to his drum set.

One by one, the others who had voted for Bohemian Rhapsody drifted over. Santana leaned against the piano behind Puck, with Brittany leaning against her. Sam sat backward on a chair, folding his arms on the back and resting his chin on his crossed wrists. Tina stood next to Kurt, humming absently along and dancing lightly.

The rest of the club were huddled around Blaine, who had his back to Puck. Good. Asshat. Still, Puck noticed the way Mike and Mercedes kept shooting looks in their direction, like they’d rather be over here. Puck played a satisfied chord procession. Ha. Ha.

Schue bounced into the room, clapping for attention and Puck placed his hands on his strings to mute the sound, and Blaine’s court turned to look.

“Why don’t we jump right into this,” Schue said. “Who’d like to go first.”

“We will,” Berry said, jumping to her feet. _Of course she would,_ Puck thought, and slowly stood from his stool. His group took the front row, and Puck sat with his guitar between his knees so he wouldn’t be tempted.

Blaine’s group took their positions, and it was easy to see that Blaine had overruled Mike as choreographer. They stood in rows and looked like they were getting ready to perform as the Warblers, not at the New Directions.

The band—Puck blinked. He must have been distracted, because he had no idea when they had shown up. The band started to play, and the group began to dance. Blaine stepped forward first.

_There's a stranger in my bed,_  
There's a pounding my head  
Glitter all over the room  
Pink flamingos in the pool 

Rachel stepped up next.

_I smell like a mini bar_  
DJ's passed out in the yard  
Barbie's on the barbeque  
This a hickie or a bruise? 

Quinn and Mercedes sang the next verse,

_Pictures of last night_  
Ended up online  
I'm screwed  
Oh well  
It's a blacked out blur  
But I'm pretty sure it ruled 

Mercedes tossed her hair. _”Damn”_.

The group sang together for the chorus, splitting into couples to dance, then back as a group. Puck recognized Mike’s influence in making sure everyone was included.

_Last Friday night_  
Yeah we danced on tabletops  
And we took too many shots  
Think we kissed but I forgot 

_Last Friday night_  
Yeah we maxed our credit cards  
And got kicked out of the bar  
So we hit the boulevard 

There was something still off with the movements, and Puck’s eyes widened when he figured it out. “That douchenozzle,” Puck whispered.

“What?” Kurt asked.

“Look,” Puck nodded. “He’s always in the foreground.” Sure enough, even when they were switching partners, Blaine always remained front and center on the stage; not even Rachel managed that.

“Typical gloryhound,” Kurt sighed. “It’s nothing new.”

“It sucks,” Puck said. It didn’t help that Blaine was gyrating, playing off the tone in the song. It wasn’t sexy. It was uncomfortable. 

_Last Friday night_  
We went streaking in the park  
Skinny dipping in the dark  
Then had a menage a trois 

_Last Friday night_  
Yeah I think we broke the law  
Always say we're gonna stop-op  
Whoa-oh-oah 

The rest of the song was much of the same. Everyone got a section of verse to sing, which was cool, but that was only because the song was so long. It was…repetitive. Boring. It lacked energy. By the time it happened, the sax solo was the most interesting part.

Still, Puck heard Brittany chanting along, _”T.G.I.F.”_ and Tina that she was going to _”Do it all again.”_

The song ended with Blaine crooning the last _“Do it all again”_ into his hand as if he was holding a microphone. Schue started to clap, cheering for them, and Puck clapped along because he might think Blaine was a soul-sucking boot-pustule, but he did actually like everyone else.

Puck stood, and the groups switched positions. Blaine knocked into his shoulder as they passed, and Puck stopped, turning and pressing close like he would if someone said shit to him on the field.

“What’s your problem,” Blaine sneered.

“Watch where you’re going,” Puck said.

“Oh, I know exactly where I’m going,” Blaine said. “Do you?”

“I’m going to—“

“Puck!” Kurt called. “You ready?”

Puck licked his teeth behind his lips and nodded. “Yeah, I’m ready.” He put his guitar in an open stand and sat at the piano.

Kurt had taken the original four part harmony and expanded it for six voices. So, they all began together.

_Is this the real life, is this just fantasy  
Caught in a landslide, no escape from reality_

Puck raised his hands to the keys, and began to play the accompaniment.

_Open your eyes, look up to the skies and see_

Puck took the first solo line. There had been much debate over who sang which parts, but this one, oddly enough, Puck didn’t have to fight for.

_I'm just a poor boy, I need no sympathy_

He caught Kurt smiling at him as they sang the last of the first verse. So what if he had hammed it up. He grinned.

_Because I'm easy come, easy go, a little high, little low  
Anyway the wind blows, doesn't really matter to me, _

Finn took the first verse, leading off with the second, _”to me”_

_Mama, just killed a man, put a gun against his head_  
pulled my trigger, now he's dead, mama  
Life had just begun, but now I've gone and thrown it all away  
Mama, ooo, didn't mean to make you cry  
If I'm not back again this time tomorrow  
Carry on, carry on, as if nothing really matters 

Santana took the second verse, and there was a haunting quality to her voice that Puck had never heard before; as if Santana really was facing the end.

_Too late, my time has come_  
Sends shivers down my spine, body's aching all the time  
Goodbye everybody, I've got to go  
Gotta leave you all behind and face the truth 

Sam joined in the harmony, singing with Santana,

_Mama ooo (anyway the wind blows) I don't want to die  
I sometimes wish I'd never been born at all_

Puck grinned. Now came the fun part. They decided to appoint lines based on roles. Sam played the accused man, with Santana and Tina playing his accompaniment. Puck, Finn, Kurt, and Sam played the accusers, Sam singing the lowest end, while Kurt took the highest.

_I see a little silhouetto of a man_

_Scaramouch, scaramouch - will you do the fandango_

_Thunderbolt and lightning very very frightening me_

_Gallileo, gallileo, gallileo, gallileo,  
Gallileo figaro magnifico!_

_But I'm just a poor boy and nobody loves me_

_(He's just a poor boy from a poor family)  
(Spare him his life from this monstrosity)_

_Easy come easy go will you let me go_

_(Bismillah no we will not let you go) let him go_  
(Bismillah, we will not let you go) let him go  
(Bismillah, we will not let you go) let me go  
(Will not let you go) let me go (never)  
(Never let you go) let me go, never let me go ooo  
No, no, no, no, no, no, no  
Oh mama mia, mama mia, mama mia let me go  
Beelzebub has a devil put aside for me - for me - for me 

Puck saw Rachel and Blaine’s eyes widen as Kurt hit that note, then he didn’t see much of anything as he banged his head with the drums and guitar.

Kurt stepped up, singing rough like none in the room had heard from him before. Puck wanted to cheer, because his baby was _rocking_ it.

_So you think you can stone me and spit in my eye_  
So you think you can love me and leave me to die  
Oh baby can't do this to me baby  
Just gotta get out just gotta get right outta here 

Tina took the last few verses, singing very sweetly.

 _Ooh yeah, ooh yeah, nothing really matters, anyone can see_  
Nothing really matters nothing really matters to me  
Kurt, Finn, and Puck sand the last line together, as softly as they could…

_Anyway the wind blows..._

…and the piano faded away.

The applause were much louder than before, and Schue stood. “I think we have a winner,” he said. “You can sit down, now, and we’ll see how we’re going to redistribute these solos.”

Puck stopped. Kurt, too. “Excused me?” Kurt said.

Schue looked up. “I said—.”

“I heard what you said,” Kurt said, holding up his hand. “I just don’t know why you said it. We don’t need to redistribute the solos. There are enough group parts for everyone to sing, and the performance wouldn’t be the same with different soloists.” Kurt crossed his arms. “Besides, I think the people who voted for this song in the first place should have first dibs.

Puck had to bite his lip to keep from laughing at the look on Schue’s face. He didn’t think he’d seen it so bewildered before. “Kurt,” Schue said, placating and patronizing, and Puck knew what was coming.

Kurt strengthened his stance, tightening his arms over his chest and tilting his head. He wasn’t going to bend on this. Schue started to look stern. Puck stepped in closer, pressing his side to Kurt’s to flank him.

“I agree with Kurt,” Rachel said, suddenly. Puck whipped his head around to look at her so hard that he heard something crack. Everyone was looking at her in surprise. She flushed, high in her cheeks and down her nose, but she just smoothed out her skirt with her fingers and said. “They put a lot of work into that performance, and to take away the solos now would be cruel. Not to mention that none of us know the song the same way.” Rachel tilted her own chin up. “It’s better for the group that way.”

Brittany was beaming at the back of Rachel’s head, like Rachel had passed some kind of test—which, honestly, she might have—and even Mercedes was giving Rachel approving looks. Blaine, however, looked nothing short of betrayed. 

Schue didn’t seem to notice. He was looking at Rachel like she had revolutionized his world view. “That’s very perceptive, Rachel,” Schue said. “Is everyone okay with this?”

Blaine crossed his arms, face pinched, but the rest of the group nodded their assent.

“Good,” Schue said. “Now, everyone grab your costumes and meet me in the auditorium. We’re going to do a run through with our surprise guest host!”

Puck shared a look with Kurt. After this past summer, he’d developed a distaste for surprises.

 

Kurt had “designed” their costumes to look like the band would have in 1976. They’d even painted the fingernails on their right hands black, like Queen. (Puck was considering keeping the look; he looked hot). He’d thankfully stopped short of wigs, though Puck had noticed him looking longingly towards Schue’s box of “hairography wigs.” It galled Kurt to leave the look incomplete.

Still, the end result worked. Kurt had kept the costumes uniform in that they were variations on a theme in difference to their performing as part of a show choir, but each look was tailored to the individual. Finn looked the least changed, wearing green flannel over a white shirt, but Kurt had found one with a seventies collar and it helped. Puck had red flannel, sleeveless, over a white tank and tighter jeans than he had ever worn before. Kurt had dug up a pair of cowboy boots that Puck might never take off again, but the end result was still more seventies than mid-2010s. Kurt, himself, was wearing blue flannel, tailored close and buttoned up. Puck had been trying to convince Kurt to open a few buttons before they went on stage, but so far, no dice.

Puck looked around the room. They definitely had the most _comfortable_ costumes. Rachel was wearing a yellow blouse, tied at the bottom, and a high waisted skirt. Her hair was pulled back into a high ponytail, like she was on her way to a sock hop. Blaine was dressed to match her, wearing a 50s-style cardigan over his usual clothes, and how had Puck never realize Blaine looked like he walked out of a bad 50s fashion magazine?

Then, Brittany and Santana flounced by in costume. Santana had on a short-cropped white tee with red suspenders attached to red shorts with red boots. Brittany had a blue…top that looked like a cross between a bra and bondage gear, and tight blue pants. They joined Quinn, who had a purple halter-top and skirt. Santana saw Puck looking, and squeezed Brittany’s ass. Brittany giggled and nuzzled closer when Santana smirked. Puck gave her a thumbs up.

Mike, Tina, and Mercedes were dressed in shades of tan and brown. Tina had one of Mike’s shirts over a tee shirt and shorts with boots, Mercedes had a tan leather jacket over a black dress, and Puck saw Kurt nod with approval. Mike had brown pants and a white tank and his fedora perched at a jaunty angle.

Sam and Artie were the last ready. Arite rolled in with his black leather fingerless gloves and black leather jacket, with a large gold chain. Sam had a black t-shirt with a faded silver design under a denim jacket, and someone had taken product to his hair to make it stick up.

“We look good,” Puck said.

“Most of us,” Kurt murmured back, looking about the room. He looked back at Puck and flashed a grin. “You look…” Kurt trailed off, biting his lip.

Puck smirked. “You too,” he said, and put some swagger in his walk as he stepped up to Kurt, popping open his top button, and fingering the second. Kurt watched him, amused, and Puck waggled his eyebrows. Kurt snorted, and pulled Puck in for a kiss. It started quick and playful, but then Kurt scraped his teeth over Puck’s bottom lip and Puck groaned low in his throat, tilting his head and deepening the kiss. Kurt’s hands were strong on his hips, pulling them closer together for a long, hot moment.

“I don’t believe you!” Blaine hissed, managing to somehow also yell it across the room. He must have had a similar acting coach to Rachel’s to be able to project like that. Puck tried to break the kiss with a frustrated sigh, but Kurt wrapped his hand around the back of Puck’s head and held him in place for a little longer. Point made, Kurt pulled back.

“That’s unfortunate,” Kurt muttered, running his hands over Puck’s chest to smooth out his costume, and then just to touch Puck. Puck grinned into the space above Kurt’s head.

“It’s disgusting, the way you flaunt it. Have a little respect for yourselves,” Blaine continued, not hearing Kurt. “You’re just contributing to the stereotype of the hyper sexualized gay man.”

“What?” Puck said.

“Excuse me?” Kurt said.

“You heard me,” Blaine said, crossing his arms.

Kurt crossed his won. “Oh, I heard you. I just don’t _believe_ you. Yes, I have a boyfriend. Yes, he’s not too afraid or ashamed to kiss me in public. Yes, that is a glorious and heady thing. And even, yes, we have sex. What part of that is hyper-sexualized? There is not a straight couple in the room that hasn’t been seen doing more than that in public. Right, Santana?”

“Preach!”

Blaine pointed a finger. “You have a responsibility—”

“Oh, fuck that!” Kurt snapped. “I have a _responsibility_ to myself, to be happy, and I’m not hiding that happiness. I’m not good at hiding, I won’t do it.” Kurt stepped forward, raising a finger of his own. “ _You_ have a responsibility to not be a hypocrite about things.”

“Hypocrite!”

“Yes, hypocrite! Who told me that sex, being sexy, was essential to a winning performance? Who went _behind my back_ to my dad because he wanted to make sure I could be _sexy_ on command?” Puck growled at that. Kurt reached behind him and grabbed Puck’s hand. “Well, guess what? My dad did talk to me. He told me to make sure I found someone I cared about and trusted, and I would never have to regret anything. I did just that. I have no regrets.” Kurt looked Blaine over, and sniffed, dismissing him. “You’re my only regret, Blaine, and thank God we never went there.” Kurt turned away, clearly done.

Blaine was flushed red and furious. “You—”

“No,” Kurt said, spinning. “I’m done. I’m so beyond done. I don’t have time for your fucking manipulations, okay? I know what you’re doing. You’re pissed that you don’t have control, but you know what? You never did. Because I’m many things, but I’m _not_ a baby penguin, so fuck you.”

Puck looked at Kurt in confusion. Baby _what?_ But Blaine obviously knew what he meant, because he paled and took a moment to regroup.

“Attention everyone!” Schue called, bouncing through the room, oblivious to the tension in the air. Puck watched as Kurt took a deep breath, closing his eyes. When he opened them, it was as if the rage was never there. “May I present to you, our official guest host, Miss. April Rhodes!”

“What?” Puck said with Kurt as the rest of the room clapped, and sure enough, April Rhodes herself swung through the door and struck a pose, one arm in the air.

“Ta da!” She grinned at them. “I’m back!”


	16. McKinley High: Sam

Sam listened as Kurt ranted about “…that self-centered, hypocritical _jackass,_ I—” Kurt cut himself off, and sat in the chair.

“Honestly, the only good thing that happened was that our song won,” Kurt said.

“And April Rhodes is back,” Puck said with a shrug. “That’s pretty cool.”

Sam blinked. There was something about that name…

“April Rhodes,” Dean said, voice strangely distant. 

“Guest host,” Finn said. “You know her?”

“You could say that,” Dean said, drinking his beer. Suddenly, Sam knew exactly where he had heard that name before.

“Dean saw April briefly while we were at McKinley,” Sam said.

Dean smirked. “Oh, I saw her _extensively,_ ” he said. “Pretty girl. Wonderful voice. Screamer. Could put her ankle—”

“And I officially don’t want to hear anymore,” Kurt said. Puck was hiding his smile, but Finn was staring at Dean in wonder. “You slept with April Rhodes?”

Dean shrugged. “Well, yeah. In High School.” He gestured towards Finn with the neck of his bottle. “The best part, was that I stole her from the quarterback.” He sighed. “Good times.”

“Dean played the ‘mysterious bad boy’ for half the Midwest teenagers,” Sam said.

“If it ain’t broke…”

Sam laughed, and leaned back into Gabriel’s touch when the angel appeared behind him. “Hey,” he said, softly. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Gabriel said. “Just felt the need to stuff a potato into a douchebag’s tailpipe. You know, I thought seventeen was too young to have a midlife crisis mobile.” Gabriel shrugged. “Maybe he’s compensating for something.”

Sam thought about that for a minute. “You want to make Blaine pay, and only put a garlic in his radiator?”

“It’s a classic!” Gabriel protested. “It helped that I could see fate wouldn’t be kind to him. I don’t need to go crazy when his life will punish him enough.”

“It’s hard to imagine Blaine having a less than charmed life,” Kurt said. “But I have to admit, I like the idea.”

“Hey,” Finn said. “Maybe we should—”

Cas dropped his mug as if his hand suddenly stopped working and cutting Finn off. Sam found himself on his feet a moment later, tense and ready for whatever threat Cas had seen. “What?” Dean was saying, loud and urgent. “What is it, Cas?”

“The concert,” Cas said. “We’re going to be attacked” He looked at Dean, eyes wide. “It’s what I’ve been dreaming about.” 

_Visions,_ Sam thought. _He’s been having visions._

Dean closed his eyes. “By who?” he asked.

“Or what?” Sam added.

Cas just shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said. “Its unclear. All I remember is Kurt, Finn, and Puck on stage, and knowing that whatever it is had the upper hand.”

“So we take precautions,” Sam said, overriding Dean’s low muttering about how he was sick of this physic crap, and if they were going to be sent visions, they could at least give them more information. “We’ll go in packing, and hope that whatever it is doesn’t need ritualized killing.

“Oh, there’s no _way_ this can end badly,” Kurt said dryly.

 

Sam, unlike Dean, had liked school. He could be—pretend to be, anyway—normal for a few hours. And school was something he was _good_ at, either because he was inclined that way or because of all the practice he got from researching for his dad. It was something he could use, too, because John was an ass, but he believed school came first. ( _For Sam._ School came first for Sam, and that was one of the many things that Sam still couldn’t forgive John for, even if Dean didn’t like to think about it).

Still, ever since the incident at Truman High, Sam hadn’t quite viewed High Schools the same way. He no longer _fit_ , and it wasn’t all because of his height.

Walking into McKinley High was a reminder of that. Nothing _fit._

Gabriel slipped her hand into his, tugging until he looked. She grinned at him. “Come on, Sam-a-lam. Show me around.”

Sam laughed, some of his tension easing. “I don’t even remember most of this,” he said.

“I remember _that,_ ” Dean said, coming up behind him. He pointed at a closed door. “That’s the choir room. April and I would…” Dean trailed off. “Nevermind. Let’s see if anyone’s home.”

“Wait, Dean!” Sam said, but Dean wasn’t stopping. Sam rolled his eyes, and led Gabriel after Dean and Cas.

Dean peeked through the window, and tapped on the glass. He paused, tapped again, and grinned, waving. After a moment, he stepped back, and Finn opened the door.

“Hey!” Finn said. “You’re here! Come on in, say hi.”

Sam followed Dean into the room, eyes finding the exits (behind him, office door to the left, windows high in the back) and the people inside, (teenagers in groups, most looking on with interest. One, in the bowtie, looked pissed, and the girl next to him was wearing a rather creepy Miss America smile. One adult, sitting at the piano, looked like he wanted to skin somebody alive. Sam made a note to keep an eye on him). Kurt waved at them, and Puck grinned.

“Dean Winchester,” he said, suspiciously loud. “Welcome back to McKinley High!”

“Puck,” Dean said. “Kurt.”

“Hi Sam,” Kurt said. “Gabe, Cas.”

The door to the office burst open, and Sam jumped back a step. In the doorway, hands braced on her tiny hips, stool April Rhodes. Sam’s eyes widened. She’d changed since high school, had seen some hard living, but she was still recognizably the same bright spirit.

“Dean Winchester,” she said slowly. Hungrily. Sam could feel Gabriel shake with suppressed laughter as Cas stiffened in Sam’s peripheral vision. “I didn’t know you were in town.”

“April Rhodes,” Dean said. Sam rolled his eyes. “You haven’t changed a bit.” April simpered, winking, and Sam saw another adult, presumably Mr. Schuester, step up behind her. There was something about him that looked familiar, but Sam couldn’t quite place it. Dean opened his arms, and April practically ran into them. Cas growled. So did Schuester.

Dean didn’t hold on long, stepping back. “It’s good to see you again.”

“It really is,” she said. “You want to grab a drink later, catch up on old times?”

There was a sound like a strangled cat, and Sam saw Puck hide his face in Kurt’s neck. Nobody else seemed to notice.

“Sure,” Dean said. “It’d be great for you to meet Cas.”

 _That_ seemed to stop her. “Cas?” She said flatly.

“Yes?” Cas said.

Dean grinned, and there was that lovesick look. Sam bit his lip, even as Gabe held back a painful sounding snort. There was no way Dean didn’t know what he was doing; that shit was doing this on purpose and it was hilarious. “Cas, babe, I’d like you to meet someone.” April looked dumbstruck as Cas joined Dean and wrapped his arm possessively around Dean’s waist. Dean smirked, like he knew what Cas was doing and was totally fine with it. “Cas, April. April, Cas. Cas, April made Lima bearable. April, Cas is my partner.”

“You’re gay,” April said.

Dean shrugged. “I choose not to limit myself.”

Sam missed what April said in response, because Schuester noticed him for the first time. “Sam? Sam Winchester?”

“Yeah,” Sam said. “That’s…wait, Will? From Spanish class?”

“Holy…” WIll Schuester looked him up and down. “You’re huge!”

Sam laughed, running his hand through his hair. “Yeah,” he said. The last time Sam had seen Will, Sam hadn’t yet hit his last growth spurt and Will still had a large afro and braces. They had watched out for each other in gym and eaten lunch together. He’d been a decent friend, even if he really was a certified geek. “I get that a lot. It’s good to see you.”

“It really is,” Will said. “What brings you here?”

Sam pointed to Kurt. “We came to see our cousins sing.”

“Cousins?” Will asked, blinking. He looked over at Kurt and back. “Kurt is your cousin?”

“Of course Kurt is our cousin,” Dean said. “Can’t you see the family resemblance?”

“He has your eyes,” Gabriel said, dry. She stuck out her hand. “I’m Gabriella. Sam’s fiancé.”

“Fiancé?” Finn said, confused. But, sure enough, Gabriella held out her hand and the largest diamond Sam had ever seen outside of a spell sparkled on Gabe’s hand.

April squealed. “Oh! Let me see!” She grabbed Gabe’s hand, and Gabe narrowed his eyes at her, as if she saw something she didn’t like. Before she could say anything, however, the door burst open. A woman, blond hair cropped short, stood in the doorway, arms akimbo with a megaphone in her hand. She was wearing a red tracksuit and a sour expression.

“It’s showtime, you sing-along loosers. Get your ass in gear,” she snapped, and was gone. Sam blinked, not sure he’d seen what he thought he’d seen.

“Oh,” Gabriella said. “I _like_ her.”


	17. The Performance: Kurt

Kurt stood in the wings, arms crossed as he watched the auditorium fill. The last concert he’d been in, he’d been primping until the last moment, determined to get everything _just_ so. This time, after everything, he really couldn’t be bothered. His stage makeup was impeccable—his skin had enough of a glow without slipping into shiny—and his clothes were neat, but there was only so much one could do to a flannel shirt to make it performance ready, and Kurt had other things to worry about.

Things like Cas’s vision. Absently, Kurt ran his thumb over the hilt of the knife tucked up into his sleeve; it was something new the Winchesters had cooked up, tempered in deadman’s blood and etched with holy symbols. It would cause serious damage to most supernatural baddies. It wasn’t quite Sam’s demon knife, but it as a comfort to have on hand, especially since Kurt couldn’t be armed the way he wanted to be.

Kurt caught the scent of gun oil and powder base, and leaned back into Puck when he felt Puck’s arms wrap around him.

“Anything?” Puck whispered in Kurt’s ear. Kurt shook his head. To the casual observer, it’d look like Puck was whispering sweet nothings, or more likely macking on Kurt’s ear, but Kurt felt the tension that spoke of pre-fight, not foreplay.

Puck sighed. “I don’t like this,” he said.

“Not much we can do,” Kurt said. He heard footsteps and turned; he smiled at Finn as he approached.

“Hey,” Finn said, shoving his hands into his back pockets. He looked nervous, so nervous that Rachel had gone so far as to lecture Finn on stage fright. It was a testament to how freaked out Finn was that he hadn’t bothered to correct her.

Artie and Sam appeared behind Finn, and Kurt stepped back, moving Puck with him to let them get to the stage. Artie raised his fist to bumps, and flashed a peace sign as April Rhodes took the stage to opening applause.

“Welcome, everyone, to the New Direction Benefit Concert!” She called out, raising both of her hands to give the audience time to cheer, and cheer they did. Kurt shook his head, because he could make out Dean and Gabriel in the audience, vying for loudest cheer.

“All right!” April said, beaming. “You guys are psyched! Let’s get this party started!” The band began to play and April began to sing [”The Girl in 14G”](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jBJn4BHtqqY).

Kurt felt his eyebrows raise. He had forgotten just how talented April was in the aftermath of the liquid courage incident.

Rachel appeared next to him. “It’s amazing,” she said, quietly. Kurt nodded. Watching April, he saw everything he ever loved about Broadway: passion, humor, real emotion, and such skill.

“Look at that crowd. They love her,” Rachel said. “That’s what Blaine and I are trying to do. To bring that love back.”

“I know,” Kurt said. He did look out into the crowd; his eyes found Dean smirking at the stage. Kurt bit his lip to keep from laughing. That was Dean’s, “yeah, I hit that,” smirk, and it was getting him quite a look from Cas. Gabriella was grooving along, Bobby looked entranced. Kurt blinked, looked again.

Bobby looked _entranced_.

Kurt breathed in sharply, the euphoria from before fading; April’s voice was no less beautiful, but the rapture no longer had hold. Kurt elbowed Puck, who shook his head as if waking from a dream, and half-glared at Kurt.

“Don’t you feel that?” Kurt whispered.

“I—” Puck stopped, face clearing with recognition, but before they could act, April drew the song to a close.

“Thank you, thank you!” April said, waving. “Please, give your attention and affection to the students of New Directions. May I introduce to you, Artie Abrams and Sam Evans!” She clapped as she backed off of the stage. The spotlight followed her, even as Sam ran out on stage with Artie, who bounced across in a wheelie.

The auto-tuned beat picked up, and Kurt leaned in to whisper to Puck. “That wasn’t normal,” he said.

“Siren?” Puck asked. 

“I don’t think so,” Kurt said. “Usually there’s more…death.”

Puck nodded. “Could she be like Sheila? A pagan?”

“Pagans are territorial,” Kurt said. “If she was, we’d have seen Sheila by now.”

“Maybe it’s nothing,” Puck said. “Another dud?”

“Maybe,” Kurt said, “But doubtful.” He turned back to the stage, and clapped along with the rest.

Artie and Sam left the stage to cheers, though not the wild abandon of them that had signaled the end of April’s song. Rachel and Blaine took the stage, with Blaine’s parting shot of, “see how a performance is _really_ done,” falling flat behind him.

“Thank you so much,” Finn said, leaning in. He was watching the stage with a look of horror. Kurt patted his arm and Puck punched his shoulder.

“He really is bad, isn’t he.” Kurt stiffened. The voice was deep and graveled, with a cultured tone edged by the last vestiges of the lower class.

“Crowley,” Kurt said, turning to look. Crowley stood next to him, using a cane to hold the curtain back to see the stage. The cane had a silver handle in the shape of a monstrous dog’s head.

“I mean, she’s half-decent, a little nasal and shouting as much as she sings. With the right training, she might be able to make a career as a wedding singer. But him? He is, and I don’t use this phrase lightly, _god_ awful.” Crowley sneered, as if the words hurt to say.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” Kurt said.

“If I only went where people expected me...well, frankly I’d be dead,” Crowley said. “Rather like those gun-toting giant pains-in-my-arse,” he said, and snapped his fingers. Blaine and Rachel finished with swell, and the audience cheered—cheered much louder than Kurt would have expected based on how they were during the performance. Rachel and Blaine took their bow and left the stage. Neither of them seemed to see Crowley, in fact, Kurt was the only one who appeared able to, and nobody seemed to notice that Kurt was talking to nobody.

Yet, when they passed by, making room for Quinn, Brittany, and Santana, Blaine’s step faltered and he seemed to shiver.

“Whatever you’re thinking,” Kurt said quietly, eyes on Crowley’s greedy grin, “Don’t do it.”

“Kurt,” Crowley said. “You know you have no authority to tell me what to do.”

“I don’t,” Kurt admitted, “But you know who’s in the audience.”

Crowley tisked. “You and those be-flanneled nightmares are determined to ruin all my fun. Don’t worry, little hunter, I’m not here for _him_.” He grinned. “Not yet, anyway.”

 _”What?”_ Kurt snapped, but Crowley was gone.

“What, what?” Puck asked. He seemed genuinely confused, and Kurt closed his eyes in frustration.

“You didn’t see him, did you?”

Puck frowned. “Who?”

“Crowley,” Kurt said, and folded his arms. Puck’s expression darkened, not happy to have been kept out of the loop. 

“What did _he_ want?” Puck asked.

Kurt shook his head. “I’m not sure,” he said quietly. “And that scares me.” Kurt pulled out his phone and ducked further behind the curtain so the light from the screen wouldn’t be visible from the seats. He texted a quick warning to Sam, _Crowley just back stage. Heads up._ and shoved his phone back deep into his pocket to watch the end of the song.

Mercedes nudged him as she prepared to go on, and Kurt whispered a quick “break a leg,” hoping he wasn’t giving Crowley or whatever any suggestions. He watched them take the stage, then followed Puck and Finn to get ready himself.

 

Broadway would always be Kurt’s first musical love, but as the lights came up and they started to sing, Kurt was filled with an energy he’d not felt in show choir before. Maybe it was the ability to sing in the forefront. Maybe it was the look on his father’s face, on Bobby’s, Dean’s and Sam’s. Maybe it was the way he and Puck and Finn hit perfect harmony from the first note.

Kurt took the last line to himself, closing his eyes as he _felt_ the music.

_Don’t you cry no more._

The room went black.

Cymbals crashed behind Kurt as Finn missed his mark, he heard the muted twang of Puck’s guitar strings, and then it was all drowned out by the roar of confusion from the crowd.

“Puck!” Kurt called, pulling his knife.

“I’m okay,” Puck called back. He sounded farther away in the darkness than he had in the light.

“What happened?” Finn called to them.

“I don’t—” Kurt stopped, cutting himself off as he heard a growl he hadn’t heard since Leviathan. “No,” he whispered as the pieces slotted together. April Rhodes’s trance. Crowley. And now?

“Hellhound,” Kurt whispered. “Hellhound,” he said, louder. Then he called, “Puck, it’s a hellhound! It’s after April!”

Crowley’s voice drifted out of the darkness. “Clever boy.”

There was a mechanical thump and the emergency lights came up, bathing the auditorium in red light. The screaming quieted but didn’t die away, and Kurt looked around. Puck was already moving, heading towards where April was on her knees, pleading. She was crying, ugly tears, pleading with Crowley. Crowley had his back to Kurt, but he was tapping his cane with metronomic precision, and Kurt knew he was just drawing out her fear. Kurt looked for his father.

Burt was helping Carole out of the auditorium, Bobby at his back. He had a sawed off shotgun in his hands—and how he got that into a _school_ Kurt had no idea—but they were out of the room and out of this mess so Kurt wasn’t going to complain.

The Winchesters were fighting against the stream of the crowd towards Crowley. Kurt saw the flash of the demon knife in Sam’s hand, and the pearl inlay of Dean’s gun. Cas didn’t have a weapon that Kurt could see, but he was right behind Dean anyway. Gabriel was missing.

No, Gabriel was helping to direct traffic, getting people out safely. Kurt wasn’t sure why Gabriel wasn’t heading towards Crowley—

Someone grabbed Kurt’s arm, the one holding his knife, and Kurt twisted on instinct, nearly breaking Schue’s nose before he was able to pull his punch. He ended up grazing Schue’s cheek with his knuckle.

“Sorry!” Kurt said, pulling back. “Mr. Schue, I have to…” Kurt turned away to see the Winchesters surrounded by possessed audience members. They were getting no closer to Crowley and he was still taunting April.

“You’re going nowhere,” Schue said, but that wasn’t Schue’s voice, and Kurt turned to find a pair of demon-black eyes. “Boss’s orders.”

“No!” Kurt struggled, trying to pull his arm free to use his knife. He saw Puck fighting his own trio of demons, Finn backed into a corner. Rachel was screaming from somewhere backstage. Everywhere Kurt looked, he saw another pair of black eyes.

“You’re coming with me,” Demon Schue said, tugging.

“Fuck that,” Kurt said, finally getting a hand into his shirt, and grabbed the small water pistol he had tucked into his pants. He pulled and squirted holy water directly into the demon’s face. Demon Schue reared back, letting go, and Kurt burst free to run to Puck.

Kurt took the first demon with holy-water to the eye, and while he was screaming, he got the second in the mouth. The demon fell back clutching his throat, and Puck contained the third with a portable demon trap.

“We’ve got to help them,” Kurt said.

“Come on!” Puck led the way, Kurt covering their backs as they cut a swath to the Winchesters. The brothers were surrounded by fallen Demons, and when Kurt and Puck joined them, the bodies fell all the faster.

Still, they couldn’t get through to Crowley.

“I don’t get it,” Puck called out. “We have an archangel! Why are we still fighting?”

“Too many innocents,” Cas called back. He had a water pistol similar to Kurt’s and blasted the demon sneaking up on Dean. “An Archangel’s power unleashed here would be the equivalent to using an atom bomb to demolish a parking garage. The collateral damage is too high.”

Rachel screamed again, but this time it was echoed by Finn and Mercedes.

“Go!” Sam called out. Kurt turned and ran, dodging when he couldn’t shoot, and took the steps to the stage three at a time. His footsteps pounded hollow across the stage, and he finally burst through the curtain to backstage already firing. He managed to take down three of the demons, before one pulled Finn up by the hair and held a finger to his throat as if she was holding a knife.

“Ah, ah, ah,” she said. “Come any closer and he dies.”

Kurt stopped. He saw what the demons were doing outside. He had seen what they could do to Leviathan. There was no time to move, no step he knew to take. Slowly, Kurt lowered the pistol and forced himself not to look away as Finn closed his eyes.

“Good boy,” the demon said. She gestured forward, and Kurt was caught up in her power. She couldn’t get inside, not with his tattoo intact, but apparently she could manipulate him. “Now march.” Kurt moved, feeling like a marionette, pirouetting in place.

Puck burst through the curtain just as Kurt stopped turning, and Kurt tried to shout a warning, but his mouth wouldn’t move, and it was too late. Puck stiffened, and about-faced. They led the march as the rest of the glee club followed them. Brittany was all-out crying, and Santana’s eyes were red, but Quinn looked more pissed than scared and Blaine looked like he was going to wet himself. Tina and Mike were clutching each other with wet faces and that was all Kurt could see as he was forced onto stage.

“Now _this_ is entertainment!” Crowley crowed. He raised his arms high, encompassing the room. The Winchesters were on their knees, held there by three demons each. Cas was held back by another two and Gabriel had managed to get himself trapped in holy fire. A demon stood by and fanned the smoke, making it dissipate before it could reach the alarm.

“Put your hands together, for your headliner.” Crowley bowed and gestured towards April with a flourish. Dean and Sam started struggling, shouts muffled by their own sleeves, stuffed into their mouths like gags, and Kurt couldn’t move his own mouth to scream.

April could scream.

April did scream. She screamed as the hellhound was finally unleashed, tearing her to bloody shreds and Kurt didn’t want to look, he couldn’t look, but he couldn’t move his head, couldn’t close his eyes. He raged, fighting to struggle and getting only damp with exertion.

_“Enough!”_

White light like a flash bang and a voice like a nuclear blast, vast as the earth and full of rage. Kurt fell to the ground as the demon’s hold was cut, and he squeezed his eyes shut for a long moment, blinking away the dryness. Puck slid into Kurt’s side, grabbing hold, and only then did Kurt look.

It was Sheila. Except it wasn’t Sheila. Sheila was tired, but content.

This was Sheela Na Gig.

Sheela Na Gig stood naked and glowing five inches off the ground. Her skin was pale, and painted with the blue swirls of the ancient picts. Her red hair was like fire, growing thick at the apex of her thighs and flowing free around her head where it crackled with power. She watched them with white eyes and raised a hand to point at Crowley.

“You are trespassing.”

Crowley sneered. “I’ve got a contract to fulfill.”

Sheela Na Gig laughed. “You think I care about your petty contracts. You might be the King of Hell, but I am a Goddess and you are not welcome here.”

Arms outstretched, Sheela Na Gig screamed, screeching like a banshee. At once, the demons clawed at their ears, some bending over and others dropping to their knees. One by one, the possessed opened their mouths and black smoke billowed forth, rushing back to hell. The hellhound howled as it, too, was banished, and Kurt had to clamp his hands over his ears. Still, he worried his hands would come away wet.

Crowley backed away, clearly caught off guard. “The contract was fulfilled,” he yelled back against the onslaught. Crowley took one last look around the room, and disappeared.

The scream ended like falling off of a cliff, and Sheela Na Gig was gone with hit. Kurt sunk his head onto Puck’s shoulder, and held on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Girl in 14G
> 
> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jBJn4BHtqqY


	18. Aftermath: Dean

April Rhodes was dead, dragged to hell by Crowley’s hellhound for selling her soul.

Just over three dozen people were just now waking up from their post-possession haze, shocky and scared in turns. Several of them had minor to semi-serious wounds.

Bobby was fighting his way back inside, triaging those affected as he went.

Kurt and Puck had fought demons, and won, in front of their classmates. Classmates that were now looking at them like they didn’t know who they were. Only Finn stood by them, wrapping them up in his arms and hiding them from their peers stares for a little while. Dean didn’t envy them; that was the exact reason why Hunters were such anti-social assholes. 

Burt was comforting Carole, who looked to be coming out of her shock and none too pleased to have been kept in the dark.

Gabriel was once again in his male form, surveying the damage and subtly laying hands where he could.

Cas squeezed Dean’s hand and headed towards the stage, probably to see if he could help calm the glee club. Dean sighed.

“What in the seven hells was that?!” A stern female voice barked, and Dean jumped, spinning. Sure enough, there was the scary woman coach from the pre-show. She had replaced her megaphone for a wicked looking crossbow that had…was that a crucifix on the barrel?

“Is that a holy crossbow?” Dean asked.

“I call her The Exorcizer,” she said. “Now answer my question.”

  


  


Dean blinked. “Yes, Coach,” he said, reflexively, and only stumbled a little when he started to speak. “That was the king of hell being a theatrical ass because we’ve pissed him off by not staying dead and having a habit of interfering and winning.” Dean stopped, and frowned. Where the hell that _that_ come from?

“King of Hell, huh?” She said. “Looked like a weasel to me.”

“He is,” Dean said. “Who are you?”

“Sue Sylvester,” she said, shouldering the crossbow. “You’re Dean Winchester. I’ve heard about you.” She looked him up and down. “I thought you’d be taller.”

“I’m six-one!”

Sylvester snorted. “Stories paint you taller.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Great,” he said. Fucking Sammy: Dean was always the “short” one. “So how’d you hear of us?”

“Ex,” Sylvester said. “He was the oldest male of a werewolf hunter family out on the West Coast. Cut him loose when he turned against his own family’s code.”

“Shit,” Dean said. He’d heard about those werewolf families. They were hardcore; matriarchal and brutal to those they considered flawed. The nomadic hunters, like they were, tended to stay away from the stationary families. Too much of a difference in philosophy. “Is he still alive?”

“Not sure,” She said. “Doubt it. He was old,” meaning skilled, “but only saw what he wanted to see.” She sniffed. “Bald, too. And while I wouldn’t let anyone with the dead animal that Schuester calls hair near me, I do prefer something up top.” 

Dean nodded, and Sylvester finally stuck out her hand. “It was…something meeting you, Winchester. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to put a school back together.”

Dean watched her walk off, barking orders as she went, and joined Cas on stage.

Most of the club’s parents had made it to the stage, and Sam was already there with Gabe, explaining things. Kurt, Finn, and Puck had uncurled from each other, and were sticking close to Burt and Carole. A girl with long blond hair was standing with Cas, staring him down with the same wide-eyed blank stare that Dean remembered from Cas’s early days on earth.

Dean walked up to Cas’s side just as the girl cocked her head (like Cas!) and said. “You had the prettiest wings. Like black smoke in midnight.”

Cas nodded, serene, but Dean’s jaw dropped. “Another angel?” He said, not really thinking.

“No,” Cas said.

“I see things, but people don’t believe me,” the girl said.

“Dean,” Cas said. “This is Brittany. She’s a delphic.”

“A seer, like Cas,” she said. “But I can’t shut mine off. It’s distracting, and it makes me forget things that I should know. Like my seven times tables and the alphabet.”

Poor kid. “Dude, that sucks,” Dean said. Brittany just shook her head, ponytail wagging.

“It’s okay. My parents understand even if no one else does. And I have Santana now. She believes me, and no one knows what I’m saying better than she does.”

“That’s good,” Dean said. Brittany grinned, and bounced away. Dean watched her go, not sure how she managed to stay so damn happy, but glad for it all the same. Dean saw Bobby waving at him from the door. Time to leave. They’d meet back at the Hudson-Hummel house and clear the air then. Dean grabbed Cas’s hand and pulled him along.

“I gave her your number,” Cas said, jogging a bit to keep up. “In case she seesanything that Kurt and Puck can’t handle.”

“Why didn’t you give her your number?” Dean asked.

Cas shrugged. “I’m out of cards,” he said.


	19. Going Forward: Puck

Forget Mayberry. Lima was fucking _Sunnydale, California._

Demons attack a high school concert, killing one of the few natives who had made it big and _left_ Lima, and it gets brushed off as a mass hallucination produced by a prank gone wrong. _Supposedly,_ some persons still unidentified had released a strong hallucinogenic into the air ducts, making everyone in the auditorium lose their shit.

And people _bought_ it.

Puck found himself sitting in the last row of the choir room three weeks after the disastrous concert, watching as Berry squabbled with Santana. Puck wasn’t sure what they were fighting about, but knew, if pressed, that he was backing Santana.

Of everyone in Glee, Santana was one of the few who believed the truth, and Puck knew that was only because of Brittany. Kurt had talked to Mercedes after; she wasn’t quite ready to see the reality behind her faith, but Puck could see the looks. She wasn’t going to remain in denial forever. Blaine was the only other one to believe, and Puck found it hard to find sympathy when Blaine grew withdrawn. He had made his bed. He could lay in it.

Kurt shifted in the seat next to him, watching a video that Gabe had sent him of his latest “just deserts,” and snickered softly. Finn sat on Puck’s other side, tongue just peaking out of the other side of his mouth as he tried to beat his high score on Angry Birds.

Puck and Kurt had added Finn to their training sessions the day after the attack, much to the disquiet of Carole. She hadn’t been happy about the secrets Burt had been keeping, but he was able to convince her that training Finn was not a bad idea.

They hadn’t told anyone yet, but the plan now was to travel, the three of them, after graduation. They would take the summer between high school and college and do the work. Saving People. Hunting things.

Just the three of them, continuing the family business.

Puck leaned back in his seat, crossed his arms behind his head, and felt like he finally had a future.


	20. The Road Goes On: Sam

The threat to Kurt and Puck gone, Sam half-expected Gabriel to disappear once more. Still, Gabriel was there when they gathered their things at the Hudson-Hummel House. He stood by Sam’s side when they said their “sorry”s and their goodbyes. He was still with them in the back of the Impala with a running commentary on everything, chewing on red vines and letting them know when he sensed Bobby getting home safely.

Gabriel helped Sam carry his things back into their bunker, into their room. He took the bad from Sam’s hand and distracted him for the next few hours. Vigorously.

Three weeks and Sam stopped assuming Gabriel wasn’t going to be there when he looked. He started to assume Gabriel had no intention of leaving.

Then, of course, Gabriel had to ruin it by sitting Sam down one night, chewing on his lip in a nervous tic that made Sam realize just how serious this was. Gabriel told Sam everything, then. About how, since he’d been forced from retirement, Gabriel was the only archangel left. How he’d been working his old schtick to avoid as much of the shit upstairs as he could. How, when he couldn’t anymore, he’d been in heaven fighting the demands for himself to take up the mantle of god, been trying to set up a self-governing system.

He told Sam how it wasn’t going well, and that there’d be another war in heaven soon. Very soon. Now, actually. Gabriel had to go, had to lead his army and keep his followers safe. Sam wished him luck, closed his eyes and kissed him until Gabriel was gone and Sam was sitting by himself next to a cold cup of coffee.

Cas saw him first, and did nothing but replace the cup. Dean sat down across from him and listen as Sam finally his control and started to yell. When he wound down of his own accord, Dean told Sam of a new hunt and Sam went to grab his jacket. Keeping busy was the best thing right now.

So Sam donned his coat, wrapping his belief that Gabriel would be okay and would come to him whole around him like a cloak, and followed Dean back into the real world.

They had a job to do.


End file.
